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THE FOOLS OF 
SHAKESPEARE 




Frederick Warde as "Cecco" in "The Duke's Jester' 



THE FOOLS 
OF SHAKESPEARE 

An Interpretation of Their Wit^ 
Wisdom and Personalities 



BY 

FREDERICK WARDE 




NEW YORK 

McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY 

1913 



j'^^:/lT'^ 



Copyright, 1913, by 
McBride, Nast & Co. 



Published, .October, 1913 



©C1.A358089 



To 
the memory of that gallant gentle- 
man, loyal friend and splendid actor, 

LOUIS f AMES, 
in close association with whom were 
spent the happiest years of my profes- 
sional life, is dedicated all that maybe 
found worthy in the following pages. 



PREFACE 

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; 
it shines everywhere. 

How far the above epigram may apply to the 
compiler of this work, may be a matter of opinion. 

Among the legion of books dealing with the 
characters of Shakespeare, I have found the ma- 
jority to be devoted to his tragic and serious crea- 
tions, a few to his humorous types, but none to 
his fools. 

In the course of a lengthy career upon the 
stage, which has been chiefly devoted to the plays 
of Shakespeare, I have witnessed the performance 
of these fools by accomplished actors whose skill 
has illuminated the text, and whose abilities have 
vitalized the poet's creations till they lived in my 
mind, not as imaginary beings, but as real men 
who walked, talked, and gamboled before me. 
I have listened to their words, laughed at their 
wit, pondered on their wisdom, and have marveled 



ii PREFACE 

that their point and significance have apparently 
escaped the notice of so many readers and students. 

This must be my excuse, if not my justification, 
for the book. 

The matter was the subject of one of my lec- 
tures, under the title, "The Wit and Wisdom 
of Shakespeare's Fools" and included in my 
series "Shakespeare and His Plays." I found, 
however, the material so abundant I could not 
include it in the limited time at my command on 
the platform. I have therefore elaborated the 
theme, enlarged the scope of the design, and 
divided it into chapters, which I hope will enter- 
tain the reader, instruct the student, and prove of 
some interest generally. 

I make no claim to originality, and have en- 
deavored in all instances to credit the author with 
the thoughts I have quoted. 

I have found occasion in several instances, to 
differ with some of the well known Shakespearean 
scholars; but it must always be remembered that 
I speak from the view-point of the actor, for 
whom, and for whom alone the plays were written. 



PREFACE iii 

I have not entered the literary dissecting room, nor 
invaded the realm of psychology. The line of 
demarcation between humor and imbecility, folly 
and insanity, I leave to the professional alienist. 

I have taken the characters as they appear in 
the plays and as I conceive the author intended 
them, with due reference to their relation to th% 
other characters. 

I proceed upon the fact that Shakespeare, being 
an actor, wrote these plays to be acted. That his 
purpose was to create or draw the characters as 
he saw or imagined them for dramatic presenta- 
tion. I believe their literary quality was a mat- 
ter of comparative indifference to him, the cre- 
ation of the plot, the conception of the charac- 
ters, and the arrangements of the incidents being 
his first, if not his only consideration. The beauty 
of diction, the delicate imagery, the exquisite 
poetry, and the sublime philosophy, were the 
spontaneous expression of his transcendent but 
unconscious genius 



Scan the records of the thoughts of men, 

On graven stone, or papyrus leaf; 

On parchment scroll or printed page, 

Through all the eons of the ages past 

To the high noontide of the passing day: 

Then add the sum, and its grand total 

Will be beggared by the genius of one name, alone, 

Shakespeare! 

Frederick Warde. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction i 

The Fool in Life and Literature .... 9 

YoRicK 25 

Touchstone 31 

3*inculo in "The Tempest" 'J2 

FesTE IN "Twelfth Night" 78 

Launcelot Gobbo in "The Merchant of 
Venice" 103 

Citizen in "Julius C^sar" 121 

^Phe Clown in "Antony and Cleopatra" . .132 

The Grave-Diggers in "Hamlet" . . . .139 

Launce and Speed in "The Two Gentlemf^k 
OF Verona" 162 

Xhe Fool in "King Lear" 187 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Frederick Warde as "Cecco" in "The 

Duke's Jester" Frontispiece ^ 

FAOINa 
PAGE 

Edwin Booth as "Bertuccio" in "The Fool's 

Revenge" 12 

James Lewis as "Touchstone" in "As You Like 
It" 34 

T. C. Cooke as "Trinculo" in "The Tempest" . 74 , 

E. Y. Backus as "Feste" in "Twelfth Night" . . 96 

Charles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The 

Merchant of Venice" 116 

Louis James as "Pepe" in "Francesco da Rimini" 150 / 

James Lewis and Sidney Herbert as "Launce" and 

"Speed" in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" 170 - 



THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 



INTRODUCTION 

The somewhat trite old adage, "It takes a wise 
man to make a fool," is familiar to us all, but the 
full point and significance of the proverb is only 
comprehended by those who are familiar with 
medigeval history, romance, or poetry. 

Its apparent inconsistency, however, is founded 
upon a substantial basis of reason, and a brief 
relation of mediaeval conditions will show the 
truth of the adage, and the point of its application. 

In the early and middle ages it was customary 
for a monarch, prince, or a powerful noble to have 
in his retinue or household a fool or jester, whose 
office was to entertain and amuse his master and 
his friends. He was quite an important person- 
age; enjoyed privileges, and was permitted liber- 
ties that were denied the greatest nobles, the 
closest friends, or the nearest kindred of his mas- 
ter. 

Nor birth nor rank were immune from the jests 



2 INTRODUCTION 

and pranks of "The Jester," the monarch himself 
often bearing with good humor the jibes that 
would have cost the life of one less privileged. 
The fool was, however, exempt, upon the prin- 
ciple that "There is no slander in an allowed 
fool." Usually a favorite with his master, his 
influence was sought in many a state and court 
intrigue, for under the cloak of folly he could by 
tale or parable, tell his patron truths that others 
could not or would not speak, and approve or 
ridicule any scheme or project that his interest or 
wishes might desire. However plain his truths 
or bitter his satire few were rash enough to retali- 
ate, and woe to that noble or courtier who might 
incur the enmity or displeasure of the fool, for he 
would become the target of his wit and the butt 
of his jests, with little hope of redress, or oppor- 
tunity for revenge. 

The life of a jester was a lonely one: he was 
subject to the caprices of his master, contemned 
above the board, hated below it, yet feared by 
all. 

To play such a part successfully required a man 



INTRODUCTION 3 

of more than ordinary wisdom. He could not be 
without learning. He must be a man of great 
observation, judgment, and understanding; quick 
to take advantage of every occasion for the exer- 
cise of his wit, with judgment of the time, and 
discretion as to what to say as well as what to 
leave unsaid. 

Times have changed. Progress and evolution 
have brought new conditions; folly no longer 
carries a bauble, and the man who was wise enough 
to wear the motley of the mediaeval fool might 
don to-day the robe of the justice, or the toga of 
the statesman with dignity to the office and honor 
to himself. 

The requirements of a court fool are well de- 
scribed by Viola in 'Twelfth Night," Act 3, Sc. l. 

This fellow's wise enough to play the fool, 

And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 

He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 

The quality of persons, and the time. 

And, like the haggard, check at every feather 

That comes before his eye. This is a practice 

As full of labor as a wise man's art ; 

For folly that he wisely shows is fit, 

But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their w*^- 



4 INTRODUCTION 

The dress of the fool was a motley or parti- 
colored doublet and hose, with the arms of the 
house to which he belonged embroidered on the 
breast or thigh; his head-dress, a hood parti- 
colored like his coat, and surmounted by a cocks- 
comb; his emblem, which he always carried, 
was a lath or short staff, headed by a miniature 
hood and cockscomb similar to his own called 
a bauble, and was as sacred to the fool as 
the sword to the soldier, or the crest to the 
knight. The bauble also served as a protection, 
and rendered him immune from the anger of those 
whom he might offend — for, to strike the fool was 
considered the act of a coward. The cap, bauble, 
and points of the jester's dress were adorned with 
small bells that jingled as he moved, and gave 
warning of his approach. 

Jaques, in "As You Like It," thus enumerates 
the privileges of a fool : 

O, that I were a fool ! 

I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

I must have liberty 

Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 



INTRODUCTION 5 

To blow on whom I please : for so fools have : 

And they that are most galled with my folly, 

They must most laugh. And why, sir, must they so? 

The *'why" is plain as way to parish church: 

He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 

Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 

Not to seem senseless of the bob ; if not 

The wise man's folly is anatomis'd 

Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 

Invest me in my motley: give me leave 

To speak my mind, and I will through and through 

Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 

If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

The jester was not usually a gentleman, but 
history records several instances where men of 
gentle birth and breeding have filled the office: 
sometimes from design or policy, and sometimes 
because of physical infirmities which rendered 
them incapable of bearing arms, or prevented them 
from taking part in feats of chivalry in field or 
tourney. Not infrequently the jester was a 
dwarf or cripple, his deformity giving a grotesque- 
ness to his appearance and grim point to his satire. 

Dr. Doran, in his "History of Court Fools," 
gives us the following legend, as the origin of the 
character, and the office: 



6 INTRODUCTION 

Once upon a time, it happened that all Olympus 
was dull and the gods were moping about, simply 
bored to death. It was a warm summer day and 
in a distant valley below they could see a group 
of Greek peasants disporting on the green turf in 
gala attire. The happy rustics were dancing and 
singing, enjoying the bright sunshine, and the 
sounds of their mirth floated up faintly to the gods 
in a manner that was altogether offensive to them. 

"Omnipotent Father," cried Mercury, ill-natur- 
edly, "it would be rare sport, O king of gods and 
men, to scatter all these gaily-robed revelers, and 
by a shower spoil their finery and their fun." 

The suggestion was enthusiastically received by 
the assembled deities. 

"I propose an amendment," exclaimed Juno, 
with feminine sympathy. "Before you send the 
rain, let your priest from the shrine below an- 
nounce to the people that a shower is about to 
descend, but it shall wet only fools." 

Zeus, approving, a slight sound of thunder was 
heard, and the priest stood in front of the altar 
and made the requisite announcement to the peo- 



INTRODUCTION 7 

pie. Only one of the Greeks took the precaution 
to go into his house. Every other man waited to 
see the fools drenched, and every man there was 
in two minutes wet to the skin. When the sun 
reappeared the man who had sought shelter came 
out of doors and laughed at his drenched and dis- 
concerted fellows, who, angered at his dry and 
comfortable condition, fell upon him and beat him 
severely, calling him "a fool" and the like. 
Bruised and battered, he defended himself as well 
as he could, crying, "Have patience but a moment, 
and I will prove to you that I am not such a fool 
as I look." His tormentors paused, and he, look- 
ing upward, fell on his knees, exclaiming: 

"O, Zeus, merciful and just, send down another 
shower ; wet me to the skin even as these fools are 
wet, make me as great a fool as my neighbors 
and enable me, a fool, to live at peace among 
fools." 

Down came the shower prayed for, and the two 
assemblies, the gods above and the fools below, 
roared with laughter, as he stood there drenched to 
the skin like the rest. "This is unjust," cried 



8 INTRODUCTION 

Juno, as the laughter ceased, "and you have 
spoiled that good fellow's robe." 

"True," replied Zeus, "but with that shower I 
bestowed upon him wit, wisdom, and humor, and 
have breathed that fact into the ear of the chief 
of the district, who will take this humorous philos- 
opher home with him, to be at once his diverter 
and instructor." 

That night at a banquet given by the chief, the 
wise fool stood near his master, pouring out witty 
truths as fast as his lips could utter them, and the 
gods both envied the fun and admired the wisdom. 
"That fellow," cried Zeus, "shall be the founder 
of a race. Henceforward each court shall have 
its fool; and fools shall be the preachers and ad- 
monishers of kings. Children," he added, to the 
gods and goddesses, raising a goblet of nectar, 
"here's a health to the first of fools." 



THE FOOLS OF SHAKE- 
SPEARE 

THE FOOL IN LIFE AND IN 
LITERATURE 

HISTORY records the names of a number 
of men who in the character of court fool 
have made themselves famous both in word and 
deed. Of these one of the most distinguished 
was Triboulet, court jester to King Francis I, of 
France. Triboulet was a nickname, but we know 
no other. He was deformed in body, ludicrous 
in appearance, but of a very brilliant mind. His 
wisdom was equal to his wit, and he was, at times, 
both fool and adviser to the king. Francis was 
deeply attached to him and he returned the af- 
fection loyally. Much of his wit is recorded, 
and his pranks at the meeting of his master with 
King Henry VIII, of England, at the "Field of 
the cloth of gold," are related in the chronicles 

9 



10 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

of that brilliant spectacle. It is of Triboulet that 
the following bon mot is related. He had of- 
fended a powerful nobleman of the court, who, in 
retaliation, threatened to hang him. As the 
nobleman was a man of his word, poor Triboulet's 
life was in danger, so he went to the king and 
told him of the threat. 

"Never fear, Triboulet," said the king, "if he 
hangs you, I'll hang him fifteen minutes after- 
wards." 

To this Triboulet replied, "Couldn't your 
Majesty contrive to hang him fifteen minutes 
before?" 

Two other French fools of distinction were 
Brusquet and Chicot. The former held the 
office of jester to three kings, Henri II, Francis 
II, and Charles IX; while the latter was the 
friend and fool to Henri III. 

The most prominent English court fools or 
jesters were: Will Sommers, in the reign of 
Henry VIII; Patch, attached to the household of 
Cardinal Wolsey; Hey wood, at the court of 
Queen Mary ; and Dick Tarleton, at that of Eliz- 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE ii 

abeth. Heywood, however, was also a drama- 
tist of some distinction, and Tarleton, a very pop- 
ular comic actor of the period. Later we find 
Archie Armstrong, at the court of James I; and 
Tom Killigrew, who besides being jester was 
"Master of the Revels," to Charles I. The lat- 
ter is described by Pepys as "a merry droll, but 
a gentleman of great esteem with the king." 
Killigrew was probably the last of the licensed 
court fools, and the office of household jester 
ceased to exist, the character subsequently degen- 
erating into the itinerant merry-andrew, a buffoon 
who appeared at country fairs and village festi- 
vals, and is now seen only at Christmas time with 
the mummers that accompany the waits and carol 
singers in old-fashioned English villages. 

In romance the fool has prominently figured, 
always with picturesque and frequently with dra- 
matic effect. 

Sir Walter Scott, in his romantic novel "Ivan- 
hoe," has described with much detail and fidelity 
the character of "Wamba," and has given us a 
very accurate and impressive picture of the life 



12 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

and characteristics of the jester-minstrel of the 
time of Richard Coeur-de-Lion. 

We are indebted to Victor Hugo, in "Le Roi 
s'ammuse," for a striking and powerful picture 
of the Italian court fool. The character is more 
familiar, perhaps, in a dramatic version of the 
same story, called "The Fool's Revenge," by Tom 
Taylor, in which the late Edwin Booth gave such 
a wonderfully effective presentation of the poor 
deformed jester Bertuccio, concealing under the 
motley garb and mocking tones of the fool the 
intensity of a father's love. 

The French court fool is most picturesquely 
presented in ''La Dame de Monsereau," in which 
the elder Dumas has woven a very interesting 
and exciting romance around the character of 
"Chicot," jester to King Henry IIL Chicot is 
represented as a gallant soul, full of honor and 
chivalry, as ready with his sword as with his 
wit, both being equally effective. The romance 
was dramatized for me recently, under the title 
of "The Duke's Jester," by Mr. Espey Williams, 
who transferred the scene of action from the court 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 13 

of France to that of the Duke of Milan, in Italy; 
and changed the name of "Chicot" to "Cecco." 
I played the part of the jester with some success, 
•and retained the play in my repertoire for several 
years. 

In the drama we have an admirably constructed 
and splendidly written play, "Francesca di Ri- 
mini," by the late George Boker, where we find 
the fool "Pepe," keen of wit, but depraved in 
mind, a very "lago" in motley. His fun is ma- 
licious, his humor mischievous and his wit malev- 
olent. A masterly performance of the character 
was given by my friend and comrade, Mr. Louis 
James, with whose name it will always be 
identified. 

It is Shakespeare, however, who has given us 
the best types of fool, in which may be found not 
only wit and wisdom, but all of those qualities 
I have endeavored to enumerate. He has left us 
enduring pictures of hiediseval life and manners, 
that make the characters live again in their true 
and perfect body and environment. 

Of pertinent interest after this brief sketch of 



14 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the historical position of the fool is the interpre- 
tation of Shakespeare's fools contained in a post- 
humous work by Francis Douce, published in 
London in 1839, entitled "Illustrations from 
Shakespeare." There I find a chapter of about 
twenty pages with the caption: "Desertation L, 
The character of Shakespeare's fools." 

My knowledge of this work was obtained from 
Mr. Wilfred Clarke, a son of the late eminent 
comedian, John Sleeper Clarke, who found the 
manuscript of the extracts, printed below, in the 
property room of the old Walnut Street Theater 
in Philadelphia, while he was examining some 
papers and effects of his deceased father. The 
MSS. was written, I have subsequently learned, 
by Mary Ann Booth, and is in a fine hand, on 
old-fashioned blue note paper, now soiled and 
discolored with age, and dogs-eared as if from 
frequent use and reference. 

In the printing of the excerpts I have retained 
the capitalizing of the words and the punctuation 
as I found it in the MSS. as characteristic of the 
writer and the period. 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 15 

I cannot agree with several of the propositions 
advanced by the author, and it may be interest- 
ing to know that on its first publication the book 
met with severe condemnation at the hands of the 
critics, so much so, that the author withdrew it 
from sale, and it was not republished till some 
five years after the author's death. 

The significance of this little manuscript lies 
in the evidence it gives us of the study and re- 
search that such an actor as the late Mr. Clarke 
gave to the accurate presentation of his characters, 
fools and clowns though they were. The details 
of the various kinds of fools may also be noted 
with interest, as well as the difference of the kind 
and quality of the costumes worn by these at- 
tractive men of motley. 

I. THE GENERAL DOMESTIC FOOL. 

(Often but as it should seem improperly termed "a 
clown.") 

He was — i. A mere natural or idiot. 

2. Silly by nature, yet cunning and sar- 

castical. 

3. Artificial. 



i6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Puttenham speaking of the latter, says — A 
buffoune or counterfeit foole, to hear him speake 
wisely which is like himself, it is no sport at all ; but 
for such a counterfeit to talk and looke foolishly it 
maketh us laugh, because it is no part of his natural. 

All these officiated occasionally as menial servants. 

The Court Fool belonged to this 3rd class. 

Immoderate and disordinate joy became incorpo- 
rate in the body of a jeaster; this fellow in person is 
comely, in appearell courtly, but in behaviour a very 
ape and no man; his studie is to coine bitter jests, or 
to shew antique motions, or to sing baudie ballads : 
give him a little wine in his head, he is continually 
flearing and making of mouthes : he laughs intemper- 
ately at every little occasion, and dances about the 
house, leaps over tables, outskips mens heads, trips 
up his companions heels, burns sack with a candle, 
and hath all the feats of a lord of misrule in the coun- 
try : feed him in his humour, you shall have his heart, 
in meere kindness he will hug you in his armes, kisse 
you on the cheek, and rapping out an horrible oath, 
crie God's soul Tom, I love you, you know my poore 
heart, come to my chamber for a pipe of tobacco, 
there lives not a man in this world that I more honour. 
In these ceremonies you shall know his courting, and 
it is a speciall mark of him at the table, he sits and 
makes faces : keep not this fellow company, for in 
jugling with him, your wardropes shall be wasted, 
your credits crackt, your crownes consumed, and time 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 17 

(the most precious riches of the worid) utterly lost. 
This is the picture of a real hireling or artificial fool, 
from a singular tract entitled "Wit's miserie," 1599. 
It is so exceedingly clear that the terms clown and 
fool were used, however improperly, as synonymous of 
our old writers that it would be an unnecessary occu- 
pation of the reader's time to adduce examples. Their 
confused introduction in the dramatis personse might 
indeed render this position doubtful to any one who 
had not well considered the matter; but although the 
fool of our old plays denoted either a witty hireling 
or artificial fool, both retained for the purpose of 
making sport for their employers, the clown was cer- 
tainly a character of much greater variety. He oc- 
casionally represented one of the above personages ; 
sometimes he was a mere rustic, and very often no 
more than a shrewd and witty domestic. There are 
some instances in which any low character in a play 
served to amuse the audiences with his sallies 
of coarse buffoonery, and thus became the clown of 
the piece. In short, the theatrical clown or fool 
seems to have been a kind of heterogeneous character, 
drawn in part from real life, but very considerably 
heightened to produce stage effect; an opinion that 
derives considerable support from what Shakespeare 
has put into the mouth of Hamlet, when he makes him 
admonish those who play the clowns to speak no 
more than is set down for them. Indeed, the great 
dramatist himself cannot be absolved from the imputa- 
tion of having given too high a colouring to the char- 
acters in question, unless we suppose, what is ex- 



i8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

tremely probable, that his plays have been very much 
interpolated by the extemporaneous nonsense of the 
players. 

Dr. Fuller, speaking of the Court Jester, whom he 
says some count a necessary evil, remarks in his usual 
quaint manner, that it is an office v^hich none but he 
that hath wit can perform, and none but he that wants 
it will perform. 

THE CLOWN. 

1. A mere country booby. 

2. A witty rustic. 

3. Any servant of a shrewd and witty disposition; 
and who, like a similar character in our modern plays, 
was made to treat his master with great familiarit> 
in order to produce stage effect. 

III. The female fool, who was generally idiot. 

IV. The City or Corporation Fool, whose office was 
to assist at public entertainments and in pageants. Tc 
this class belong perhaps the Lord Mayor's state fool 
and those employed by the companies of trades &c. 

V. Tavern Fools. These seem to have been re- 
tained to amuse the customers. We learn from om 
of Ben Jonson's plays that they exhibited with tht 
jews harp, mounted on a joint-stool, and in another oi 
them he has preserved the name of such a character 
they were sometimes qualified to sing after the Italiai 
manner. Fools were also employed in the commor 
brothels. 

VI. The Fool of the ancient theatrical mysteries anc 
moralities. He was more properly speaking, the Vice 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 19 

a singular character, that would afford matter for 
much better dessertations than those of Warburton 
and Upton. Being generally dressed in a fool's habit, 
he appears to have been gradually and undistinguish- 
ably blended with the domestic fool ; yet he was cer- 
tainly a buffoon of a different sort. He was always 
a bitter enemy to the Devil, and a part of his employ- 
ment consisted in teazing and tormenting the poor 
fiend on every occasion. He ceased to be in fashion 
at the end of the sixteenth century. 

Vn. The Fool in the old dumb shows exhibited at 
fairs, and perhaps at inns, in which he was generally 
engaged in a struggle with death ; a fact that seems 
alluded to more than once in Shakespeare's plays. It 
is possible that some casual vestiges of this species of 
entertainment might have suggested the modern Eng- 
lish pantomimes. 

Vni. The Fool in the Whitsun ales and Morris 
dance. 

IX. The Mountebank's fool, or Merry Andrew. 

There may be others introduced into our old dramas 
of an indefinite and irregular kind, and not reducible 
to any of the above classes. 

COSTUME. 

Whoever is desirous of obtaining general and ac- 
curate information concerning the great variety of 
dresses that belong to some of the characters in ques- 
tion at different periods, must study ancient prints and 
paintings, and especially the miniatures that embel- 
lished manuscripts. These will furnish sufficient 



20 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

specimens; but the difficulty of ascertaining how the 
theatrical fools and clowns of Shakespeare's time 
were always habited, is insuperable. In some instances 
the plays themselves assist by peculiar references that 
leave but little doubt; but this is not the case in gen- 
eral. 

It may be collected both from the plays themselves, 
and from various other authorities, that the costume 
of the domestic fool in Shakespeare's time was of 
two sorts. 

(Here follow some etchings in pencil.) 

On the first of these the coat was motley or parti- 
coloured, and attached to the body by a girdle, with 
bells at the skirt and elbows, though not always. The 
breeches and hose close, and sometimes each leg of 
a different colour. A hood resembling a monk's cowl, 
which at a very early period, it was certainly designed 
to imitate, covered the head entirely, and fell down 
over part of the breast and shoulders. It was some- 
times decorated with asses' ears, or else terminated in 
the neck and head of a cock, a fashion as old as the 
fourteenth century. It had often the comb or crest 
only of the animal. 

The fool usually carried in his hand an official 
sceptre or bauble, which was a short stick ornamented 
at the end with the figure of a fool's head, or some- 
times with that of a doll or puppet. To this instru- 
ment there was frequently annexed an inflated skin 
or bladder, the form of it varied. It was not always 
filled with air, but occasionally with sand or peas. 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 21 

The other dress, and which appears to have been 
more common in the time of Shakespeare, was the 
long petticoat. This originally appertained to the 
idiot or natural fool. Why it came to be used for 
the allowed fool is not apparent. It was like the first, 
of various colours, the materials often costly, as of 
velvet, and guarded or fringed with yellow. In one 
instance we have a yellow leather doublet. 
I 

TRINCULO. 

The character of Trinculo, who in the dramatis 
personse is called a jester, is not very well discrim- 
inated in the course of the play itself. As he is only 
associated with Caliban and the drunken butler, there 
was no opportunity of exhibiting him in the legitimate 
character of a professed fool: but at the conclusion 
of the play it appears he was in the service of the 
King of Naples as well as Stephano. He must be 
regarded as an allowed domestic buffoon, and habited 
in the usual manner. 

LAUNCE AND SPEED. 

The character of Speed is that of a shrewd witty 
servant. Launce is something different, exhibiting 
a mixture of archness and rustic simplicity. There is 
no allusion to dress, nor any other circumstance that 
marks them as the domestic fool or jester. 

THE CLOWN — FESTE. 

This clown is a domestic or hired fool, in the serv- 
ice of Olivia. He is specially termed "an allowed 



22 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

fool" and "Feste, the jester, that the Lady Olivia's 
father took much delight in." MalvoHo likewise 
speaks of him as "a set fool." Of his dress it is im- 
possible to speak correctly. If the fool's expression 
"I will impeticoat thy greatility," be the original lan- 
guage, he must have been habited accordingly. Mr. 
Ritson has asserted that he has neither coxcomb nor 
bauble, deducing his argument from the want of any 
allusion to them. Yet such an omission may be a very 
fallacious guide in judging of the habit of this char- 
acter on the stage. It must, however, be admitted 
that where this happens there can be no clue as to 
the precise manner in which the fool was dressed. 

MEASURE FOR MEASURE — THE CLOWN. 

The clown in this play officiates as the tapster of a 
brothel ; whence it has been concluded that he is not 
a domestic fool, nor ought to appear in the dress of 
that character. A little consideration will serve to 
shew that the opinion is erroneous, that this clown is 
altogether a domestic fool, and that he should be hab- 
ited accordingly. Many ancient prints furnish in- 
stances of the common use of the domestic fool in 
brothels. 

love's labour's lost — THE CLOWN. 

The clown in this play is a mere country fellow. 
The term ''fool" applied to him in Act V, Sc. II, means 
nothing more than a silly fellow. He has not suf- 
ficient simplicity for a natural fool, nor wit enough 
for an artificial one. 



IN LIFE AND IN LITERATURE 23 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO. 

There is not a single circumstance through the 
whole of this play which constitutes Launcelot an al- 
lowed fool or jester; and yet there is some reason for 
supposing that Shakespeare intended him as such, 
from his being called a patch, a fool of Hagar's off- 
spring, and in one place the fool. It is not reason- 
able, however, to conclude that a person like Shylock 
would entertain a domestic of this description; and 
it is possible that the foregoing terms may be merely 
designed as synonymous with the appellation of clown, 
as in "Love's Labour's Lost." On the whole we have 
here a proof that Shakespeare has not observed that 
nice discrimination of character in his clowns for 
which some have given him credit. 

/ TOUCHSTONE. 

Touchstone is the domestic fool of Frederick the 
duke's brother, and belongs to the class of witty or 
allowed fools. He is threatened with the whip, a 
mode of chastisement which was often inflicted on 
this motley personage. His dress should be a parti- 
coloured garment. He should carry a bauble in his 
hand, and wear asses ears to his hood, which is prob- 
ably the head-dress intended by Shakespeare, there 
being no allusion whatever to the cock's head or comb. 

all's well that ends well. 

The clown is a domestic fool of the same kind as 
Touchstone. 



24 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

THE winter's tale. 

The clown is a mere country booby. 

KING LEAR. 

The fool of this play is the genuine domestic buf- 
foon; but notwithstanding his sarcastical flashes of 
wit, for which we must give the poet credit, and 
ascribe them in some degree to what is called stage 
effect, he is a mere natural with a considerable share 
of cunning. Thus Edgar calls him an innocent, and 
every one will immediately distinguish him from such 
a character as Touchstone. His dress on the stage 
should be particoloured; his hood crested either with 
a cock's comb to which he often alludes, or with the 
cock's head and neck. His bauble should have a head 
like his own with a grinning countenance for the pur- 
pose of exciting mirth in those to whom he occasion- 
ally presents it. 



YORICK 

''The King's Jester'' 

HAMLET, a young Danish prince, accom- 
panied by his friend Horatio, stands by a 
low wall that encloses a graveyard watching an 
old sexton who is digging a grave. With profes- 
sional unconcern the old fellow shovels out the 
earth, together with some human bones; amongst 
them two skulls, one of which he strikes smartly 
with his spade to imbed it in the soft earth, and 
prevent its rolling away. 

Shocked at the apparent indifference of the old 
man to these dead relics, the prince advances, in- 
terrupts his work, and engages him in conversation. 
The grave-digger is a quaint, independent old fel- 
low, and answers the prince's questions with 
humorous bluntness. The prince inquires, "How 
long will a man lie in the earth ere he rot?" 
After replying to the question, the sexton picks 

25 



26 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

up one of the skulls from the mound of earth 
and asserts, "This skull hath lain i' the earth 
three-and-twenty years." "Whose was it^" 
asks the prince. "A whoreson mad fellow's it 
was," replies the sexton, and then adds, "A pesti- 
lence on him for a mad rogue ! a' poured a flagon 
of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, 
sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester." 

Gently taking the grim remainder from the 
irreverent hands of the old grave-digger, and 
gazing at it with loving tenderness, the prince ex- 
claims : "Alas, poor Yorick I — I knew him, Hora- 
tio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent 
fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand 
times; and now how abhorred in my imagination 
it is I my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips 
that I have kissed, I know not how oft. Where 
be your gibes now*? your gambols'? your songs? 
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to 
set the table in a roar? Not one now to mock 
your own grinning ! quite chap-fallen !" 

For three-and-twenty years that skull had lain 
in the earth, till every vestige of its personality 



YORICK 27 

had been destroyed, and only the experienced eye 
of the old sexton could recognize it. 

A chapless skull! dust and bones tossed up 
from the decaying earth from which they sprang, 
and to which, by the inexorable law of nature, 
they had returned; a skull that once was covered 
with skin and tissues, through which ran a myriad 
of arteries and veins, conveying the blood to and 
from the active brain that lay in the now empty 
shell. A skull that had crowned a frame, clothed 
like itself, intersected with nerves that connected 
the sensations of heart and brain, and canals that 
carried the vital fluids on their ceaseless course, 
giving the entire structure a living entity, and an 
individual personality; the personality of Yorick, 
jester to the court of Hamlet, King of Denmark. 

Yorick! what a merry, loving soul he must 
have been, how full of fun and frolic. What 
pranks he must have played on those big, good- 
natured, long-haired Viking warriors, as they sat 
at the banquet table in the great hall of the castle 
of Elsinore. In fancy, I can hear their laughter 
at his madcap jests, and the deep roar of their 



28 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

voices as they join in the chorus of his merry 
songs. 

I can see him in the churchyard, serious for a 
moment, sitting on an ancient tombstone, gravely 
watching the old sexton digging "a pit of clay" ; 
the last resting place of folly and wisdom; 
but his fun-loving soul cannot long be restrained 
by even such solemn environment; so, furtively, 
the mad rogue purloins the bibulous old grave 
digger's flagon of Rhenish, standing near-by, and 
pours its contents over the head of the discomfited 
sexton; then, fleet as a deer he runs away, leaps 
the churchyard wall, and the faint echo of his 
merry laughter is the only solace for the old man's 
wrath. 

Yorick! the lines are few, and the description 
brief that Shakespeare has given us of the man, 
but they are so pregnant with suggestion, so sweet 
in thought, and so tender in memory that he lives 
in our minds as completely as though he gamboled 
on the earth again, and laughingly j ingled his cap 
and bells in our very ears. 

How happy must have been those early days 



YORICK 29 

at Elsinore, when Hamlet was a child and Yorick 
his play-fellow. How they must have romped 
together in the gardens. What fun it was for the 
little prince to climb upon the jester's shoulders 
and race pick-back along the terraces, the boy's 
long fair curls blowing in the wind, and his merry 
laughter filling the air with music. How pleas- 
ant to sit in the shade of one of the big old trees 
in the park, and listen to the jester tell such inter- 
esting tales of the folklore of the country; of the 
traditions of the prince's warlike race, and the 
mighty deeds of his great Viking ancestors. Then 
there were stories, too, wonderful stories, of gob- 
lins, sprites and fairies who did such strange 
things that the relation of them almost frightens 
the little prince ; but he is reassured by a smile, 
and, twining his arms round dear old Yorick's 
neck, and kissing the jester's lips, he nestles close 
to the breast of his motley friend in confident 
security. 

Three-and-twenty years have passed since then ; 
years of sorrow, years of pain I The prince is now 
a man, with more than a man's share of doubts, 



30 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

perplexities and cares : and yet at the sight of the 
bare, chapless skull of his dead play-fellow all 
the sweet and tender past comes back again. 

What a tender pathos is mingled with the 
prince's philosophic reflections on the remains of 
his dead friend, as memory recalls each word and 
incident. It is indeed a reflex of Yorick himself, 
as the prince utters the grim jest, "Now get you 
to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint 
an inch thick, to this favor she must come." 

So must we all! The king lies in his marble 
sepulcher, the jester in his humble grave in the 
churchyard: but the ermine robe and motley 
coat, the crown and bauble will mingle their dust, 
and find equality in the universal democracy of 
death. 



TOUCHSTONE 

"A Worthy Foor 

TO term Touchstone a clown, as he is called 
in the cast of characters of "As You Like 
It," seems to me both a misnomer and an injustice. 
His knowledge, his wisdom, his wit and his faculty 
of observation, raise him far above the condition 
that such a term would imply. 

Fool to the court of The Duke, whose dukedom 
is not named, the character of Touchstone is a 
most positive and complete conception of the 
mediseval jester, and he more fully realizes the 
accomplishments essential to that office, as de- 
scribed by Viola in the "Twelfth Night," than 
any other of the motley-minded gentlemen that 
the poet has created. 

He is a man of considerable learning, his wit is 
never lacking in wisdom, he chooses the object of 
his jests with prudence, the time with discretion, 

31 



32 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the matter with judgment, and he is never at a 
loss for a reply that is apt and to the point. 

Touchstone scorns mere persiflage, is happily 
free from the punning habit, and is seldom a cor- 
rupter of words; he makes his jests by logical de- 
ductions, with a good premise, a sound argument, 
and a positive conclusion. 

This same happy quality may be found in his 
enedunters with the gentlemen of the court, the 
ladies in their disguises, the simple shepherds in 
the forest, and with the grave philosopher Jaques ; 
indeed, it is the latter gentleman who most accu- 
rately summarizes the accomplishments, and gives 
the keynote to the jester's character, when he pre- 
sents him to the Duke : "Is not this a rare fellow, 
good my lord? he is as good at anything, and yet 
a fool." ^ 

The wit of Touchstone does not scintillate, but 
burns with a steady flame ; it is not like the sparks 
that fly from the contact of tempered steel, but 
the bright and ruddy glow that radiates from 
molten metal in the crucible. It is sententious 
rather than brilliant, more philosophic than friv- 



TOUCHSTONE 33 

olous, and invariably epigrammatic. His humor 
is never malicious, nor his satire bitter; he shoots 
his wit at every mark that presents itself, but his 
shafts are harmless; they have no barb and leave 
no sting. 

Touchstone is not a buffoon, he does not play 
practical jests nor indulge in such pranks as did 
that "mad rogue" Yorick. Had it been Touch- 
stone in the churchyard at Elsinore when the sex- 
ton was digging a grave, he would not have poured 
a flagon of wine over the old grave-digger's head ; 
he would probably have leaned against one of the 
old yew trees, watched the proceedings with quiet 
reflection, and if the old sexton had advanced any 
of his socialistic theories, the jester would have 
argued the matter to the end, and no doubt have 
beaten him on his own proposition. 

There are no demonstrations or expressions of 
affection by Touchstone, as by the fool in "King 
Lear," yet he is not lacking in loyalty; he leaves 
the court of Duke Frederick to follow the for- 
tunes of Celia, the Duke's daughter, out of sincere 
regard, running the risk of the Duke's displeasure 



34 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

and probably of punishment if discovered; he ac- 
cepts the fatigues of the journey and the discom- 
forts of life in the forest of Arden without hesita- 
tion or complaint; he readily adapts himself to 
his new environment, keeps his own counsel, as 
well as that of his mistress, and holds the secret 
of the disguises of Celia and Rosalind inviolate. 
My first acquaintance with Touchstone was 
made many years ago, at Manchester, in England. 
A very elaborate production of "As You Like It" 
was presented at the Prince's Theater there. I 
played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of that 
beautiful and incomparable actress. Miss Adelaide 
Neilson. Mr. Compton was the fool. I cannot 
imagine a more adequate and effective performance 
of the part than Mr. Compton gave; his quaint 
personality, his unctuous humor, his artistic in- 
stinct, added to his ripe experience, combined to 
present a complete embodiment of the poet's 
design. The mobility of his features reflected the 
spirit of every line he uttered ; and though he sel- 
dom smiled, under the gravity of his expression 
yOu seemed to feel there was the keenest appreci- 




James Lewis as "Touchstone" in "As You Like It' 



TOUCHSTONE 35 

ation of the humor of the occasion, which laughter 
would have failed to convey. 

The memory of Mr. Compton's performance 
will ever remain with me as the living embodiment 
of Touchstone. 

It is a pleasing pastime to conjure up in one's 
mind the pictures that Shakespeare has drawn, and 
give them vitality, form and color. I have en- 
deavored to imagine the scene of the first meeting 
of Touchstone with the gloomy philosopher 
Jaques, in the forest, as described by that eccentric 
gentleman. 

A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ! — a miserable world ! 

As I do live by food, I met a fool 

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun 

And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 

In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. 

The description is brief, but it suggests to the 
imagination a scene of rare sylvan beauty, and 
striking human contrast. An opening in the trees 
where the sun, unimpeded by the heavy foliage of 
the deep forest brightens the landscape, and the 
atmosphere is redolent with the fragrance of the 



36 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

wild yood flowers. The bees are humming drows- 
ily, the birds flit by on speedy wings to reach their 
nests, and from their leafy homes trill out their 
joy in sweetest melody. Touchstone is lying 
upon the soft green turf; he imagines himself to 
be alone, unseen, unheard. He is soliloquizing, 
speaking his thoughts aloud, as many thinkers do, 
possibly contrasting the beauties of nature with 
which he is environed, with the frowns of fortune 
that have banished his mistress and himself from 
the luxurious life of the court to the plain, homely 
existence in the primitive forest. But he is not 
alone. Jaques, wandering through the forest, ob- 
serves the motley figure reclining on the ground, 
and hearing his voice but seeing no auditor, stops 
and listens. Noting his motley coat, Jaques at 
first takes the fellow for an ordinary fool, for 
which most people at that time, including Shake- 
speare himself, had a profound contempt; but 
Touchstone's railing is no ordinary abuse; it is in 
such "good terms," such ''good set terms," 
that the philosopher not only stops to listen to 
"the motley fool," but is so entertained that he 



TOUCHSTONE 37 

finally accosts, and greets him with a salutation 
that invites conference. 

After the greeting there is another picture. The 
background is the same, but the figures have 
changed their position. The fool is still lying 
upon the ground, now alert and responsive ; while 
Jaques has found the trunk of a friendly tree, 
against which he leans in contemplative curios- 
ity. 

It would be interesting to hear the whole of the 
dialogue between the recumbent fool and the 
standing philosopher; but the dramatist was too 
wise to make such an error of construction. He 
gives us the main points and leaves the rest to the 
imagination. That Touchstone was fully equal 
to the occasion, and "vented from the strange 
places in his brain, crammed with observation, 
mangled forms" that impressed and astonished 
"Good Monsieur Melancholy," is proved by the 
fact that the latter's usual gravity is changed to 
the broadest merriment, culminating in his ex- 
pressed desire to emulate the province of the 
clown. 



38 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

O that I were a fool! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

But to return to that portion of this interesting 
interview the poet has given us. It is narrated 
by Jaques himself: 

"Good morrow, fool," quoth I. "No, sir," quoth he, 

"Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune." 

And then he drew a dial from his poke, 

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock; 

Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags. 

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 

And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; 

And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative, 

And I did laugh sans intermission 

An hour by his dial. — O noble fool! 

A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. 

We are not informed of the effect of the inter- 
view on Touchstone but, doubtless, like a good 
soldier that appreciates a foeman worthy of his 
steel, he esteemed the philosopher the more after 
the combat of their wits. 



TOUCHSTONE 39 

Henry Giles, in his "Human Life of Shake- 
speare," calls Touchstone "The Hamlet of mot- 
ley," and finds "a sadness in his jests" and "in his 
mockery seem(s) to hear echoes from a solitary 
heart." He epigrammatically summarizes the 
character as follows: "He is a thinker out of place, 
a philosopher in mistaken vesture, a genius by 
nature, an outcast by destiny." It may be pre- 
sumption on my part to differ from so distin- 
guished an authority, but, while I approve the 
application of the term "Hamlet of motley" as 
justified by Touchstone's analogy to the Danish 
prince in his reflective philosophy on the mutabil- 
ity of life, I fail to find any evidence of "sadness 
in his jests" or the "echoes from a solitary heart" 
in his sentiments or conduct. As I have before 
observed, his jests are not frivolous, but they are 
characteristic of the man, quaint and sententious, 
and never lacking in humor. On the arrival of 
the fool in the forest of Arden, with Celia and 
Rosalind, he jests at the love tale which he and 
the ladies overhear Sylvius relate to Corin, and 
burlesques the amatory verses that Orlando has 



40 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

written to Rosalind. He meets and courts Au- 
drey, the country wench, with the usual attentions 
and compliments of a lover in his station, and in 
the third act arranges to marry her; in fact, he 
would have done so, but for the advice of Jaques, 
who urges him to postpone the ceremony till a 
more favorable opportunity. This opportunity 
presents itself at the conclusion of the play, and 
Touchstone is there with his sweetheart, eager, as 
he declares, to "swear and forswear, according as 
marriage binds." These conditions do not seem 
to indicate a solitary heart. As to Mr. Giles's 
final summary of Touchstone's character, his 
genius I admit; but a thinker is never out of place : 
there is no distinctive vesture for a philosopher: 
and the jester to so important a personage as the 
Duke can scarcely be termed an outcast. 

It would seem by the initial appearance of 
Touchstone that Shakespeare intended to repre- 
sent him as the ordinary type of "a dull fool," and 
later endowed him with the wealth of wit and 
wisdom that has so enriched the character, and 
made it so conspicuous in the comedy. 



TOUCHSTONE 41 

This has caused so eminent an authority as Dr. 
Furness to conclude that Shakespeare intended to 
present two separate and distinct characters: an 
ordinary "roynish clown" or "clownish fool," as 
he is called in the first act, and the keen and witty 
philosopher, the "worthy fool" we find in the 
later acts. 

Again, I am compelled to differ with a dis- 
tinguished scholar. 

I can find nothing inconsistent in the character. 

In the first act. Touchstone's jests are light and 
frivolous, but in perfect keeping with the duties 
of his office, which were to entertain and amuse 
his master and his household; and even that 
trifling example of the knight and the pancakes 
is an apt illustration of his argument on "swearing 
by his honor" ; while his sarcastic reference to 
"breaking of ribs" as "sport for ladies" is entirely 
consistent with his philosophic satire in the later 
acts. 

The unities of the character are well preserved, 
and the link connecting Touchstone at the court 
with Touchstone in the forest is clearly defined. 



42 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Rosalind and Celia, having decided to leave the 
court and seek security in the forest, Rosalind 
proposes : 

What if we assay 'd to steal 

The clownish fool out of your father's court? 

Would he not be a comfort to our travel? 

To this proposal Celia eagerly assents: 

He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; 
Leave me alone to woo him. 

That her wooing vi^as successful is obvious, for 
the next time we meet them they are at the edge of 
the forest. Touchstone is with them, and like 
themselves wearied by the journey they have 
made. The continuity is complete. The same 
trenchant wit that satirized the "breaking of ribs" 
at the court, humorously exclaims against the 
fatigues of the journey, and the discomforts of 
the forest. 

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! 

Tou. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not 
weary. 

Cel. I pray you bear with me ; I cannot go further. 

Tou. For my part, I had rather bear with you than 



TOUCHSTONE 43 

bear you ; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, 
for I think you have no money in your purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Tou. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I! 
when I was at home, I was in a better place: but 
travelers must be content. / 

It is obvious to me that the characters developed 
in the mind of the author as he progressed in the 
construction of the play, and however clear may 
have been his first conception of the part, he elab- 
orated and perfected it as the possibilities pre- 
sented themselves. 

Dr. Furness, however, is most emphatic against 
this view of Shakespeare's methods. He says: 
"I cannot suppose — it is unthinkable — that from 
the first instant each character was not present 
before him in perfect symmetry and absolute com- 
pleteness." 

This is the natural point of view of such an ac- 
complished scholar and scientific literary critic as 
Dr. Furness ; but Shakespeare had not the Doctor's 
advantages of a systemized education, nor such 
profound literary culture. Shakespeare adopted 
methods of his own, which were at variance with 



44 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

conventionality; he discarded the scientific rules 
of construction, followed the natural instincts of 
his own mind, and established a new standard 
of dramatic writing. 

Such evidence as we have, indicates that nearly 
all of the poet's pi ay- writing was hastily done, 
and as he then thought, but for temporary use on 
the stage. We have no evidence of revision either 
for publication or for subsequent reproduction, 
but much that justifies the inference that he was 
indifferent to the merits of his dramatic work; 
so that while his plots may have been carefully 
prepared, the characters grew in detailed impor- 
tance as they developed in the mind of the actor- 
dramatist, and the construction of the play pro- 
ceeded. It must also be remembered that Shake- 
speare worked from more than one point of view ; 
he possessed the creative faculty of the author, 
the ideality of the poet, the constructive ability 
of the dramatist, as well as the actor's instinct of 
delineation. This condition I assume to have 
existed in the construction of "As You Like It," 
and the result was the evolution of Touchstone. 



TOUCHSTONE 4^ 

The story of the knight and the pancakes, re- 
ferred to in the foregoing lines, is told by Touch- 
stone in the second scene of the first act; his initial 
appearance in the play. 

Rosalind and Celia are in the gardens of the 
Duke's palace, when they are approached by 
Touchstone, who addressing Celia, says: — ''Mis- 
tress, you must come away to your father." Celia 
responds with the question, "Were you made the 
messenger?" ''No, by mine honor," asserts 
Touchstone, "but I was bid to come for you." 
Honor being a quality with which a fool was not 
supposed to be familiar, his asseveration draws 
from Rosalind the query, "Where learned you that 
oath, fool?" to which Touchstone replies as fol- 
lows: "Of a certain knight who swore by his 
honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
honor the mustard was naught. Now I'll stand 
to it, the pancakes were naught and the mus- 
tard was good, and yet was not the knight for- 
sworn." 

The ladies at this apparent trifling, grow sar- 
castic, Celia asking, "How prove you that in the 



46 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

great heap of your knowledge?" Rosalind 
echoes her cousin's sentiment by adding, "Ay, 
marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom." For an- 
swer. Touchstone requests the ladies, "Stand you 
both forth now; stroke your chins, and swear by 
your beards that I am a knave." The ladies do 
as requested, passing their hands over their faces, 
Celia exclaiming, "By our beards, if we had them, 
thou art." Touchstone concludes the story and 
the argument by asserting: "By my knavery, if 
I had it, then I were ; but if you swear by that that 
is not, you are not forsworn. No more was this 
knight, swearing by his honor, for he never had 
any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before 
ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard." 

Learning from the fool that the story has ref- 
erence to a friend of her father, Celia threatens 
him with the whip, for "taxation." Touch- 
stone's reply is worthy of the keenest satirist: 
"The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely 
when wise men do foolishly." 

The advent of Le Beau, a courtier, puts an 
end to the discussion. Le Beau invites the ladies to 



TOUCHSTONE 47 

see some wrestling, which he terms "good sport," 
and describes with much detail the bouts that have 
already occurred, in which Charles, the champion 
wrestler, has overthrown and broken the ribs of 
three young men, brothers, who have essayed to 
compete with him. Le Beau reports the young 
men as having been apparently fatally injured, 
and that some of the more sympathetic spectators 
have joined the aged father of the boys in his 
lamentations at their hurts. At the conclusion of 
Le Beau's narrative Touchstone gravely inquires, 
"But what is the sport. Monsieur, that the ladies 
have lost?" "Why, this that I speak of," returns 
the courtier. "Thus," replies Touchstone, "men 
may grow wiser every day! It is the first time 
that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for 
ladies." 

In the early days of my dramatic experience, 
there was an unworthy "gag" introduced into this 
scene by comedians who played Touchstone. At 
the conclusion of the wrestling, which is witnessed 
by the ladies and Touchstone, the champion is 
worsted by Orlando, and thrown senseless to the 



48 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

ground. The duke, with whom the wrestler is 
a favorite, inquires with some anxiety, "How 
dost thou, Charles^" in reply to which Le Beau 
should answer, "He cannot speak, my lord." 
Comedians, however, were permitted to appropri- 
ate this line and would preface it with the words, 
"He says," making the sentence in its entirety 
read, "He says he cannot speak, my lord!" 
a poverty-stricken jest of which Touchstone 
would have been incapable. Happily, this "gag" 
is now omitted. 

The journey of Rosalind, Celia and Touchstone 
to the forest of Arden has been already referred 
to, together with the latter's witticisms on the 
subject, but there is one passage of the fool's I 
cannot refrain from repeating, "Travelers must 
be content." 

Speaking from many years of experience over 
many miles and in many lands, I know of no bit of 
wisdom, wit, or philosophy in the realm of litera- 
ture that expresses a more emphatic truth than 
those four words of Touchstone. 

It is while resting "in the skirt of the forest" 



TOUCHSTONE 49 

that the travelers, unperceived, overhear a lover's 
complaint by a young shepherd, Sylvius, to his 
more mature friend Corin. The relation of the 
passion of the young shepherd brings from Rosa- 
lind the acknowledgment that she is similarly 
affected; and Touchstone declares he too has suf- 
fered, and humorously describes his experiences 
with Jane Smile, concluding with the sage aver- 
ment: ''We that are true lovers run into strange 
capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all 
nature in love mortal in folly." The sentiment 
is approved by Rosalind, who remarks, "Thou 
speakest wiser than thou art ware of." "Nay," 
modestly replies Touchstone, "I shall ne'er be 
ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against 
it." 

Touchstone's adaptability and good nature 
soon make him friends and in the third act we 
find him in pleasant converse with the old shep- 
herd Corin, who evidently has considerable respect 
for him, for he addresses him first as "Master 
Touchstone" and subsequently as "Sir." Corin's 
homely wit, however, is no match for that of 



50 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Touchstone, but the latter is compelled, in justice, 
to acknowledge that even in the limited sphere 
of his pastoral life the shrewd observations of the 
old shepherd have made him a natural philos- 
opher. The dialogue is bright and characteristic 
throughout the scene, but the passages quoted be- 
low are especially good examples of Touchstone's 
logical reasoning. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master 
Touchstone ? 

Ton. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 
good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, 
it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it 
very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a very 
vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleas- 
eth me well ; but in respect it is not in the court, it is 
tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my 
humor well: but as there is no more plenty in it, it 
goes much against my stomach. — Wast ever at court, 
Shepherd ? 

Cor. No, truly. 

Tou. Then thou art damned. 

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 

Toil. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never 
saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st good man- 
ners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wicked- 
ness is sin, and sin is damnation. 



TOUCHSTONE 51 

A little more reasoning, and Corin confesses 
himself unable to cope further with Touchstone: 

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. 

Tou. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, shal- 
low man. If thou be'st not damned for this, the devil 
himself will have no shepherds. 

It is evident that at this time Touchstone has 
not yet fallen a victim to the bucolic charms of 
Audrey; for he ridicules, with extemporaneous 
doggerel, the very interesting love verses that 
Rosalind has found hanging on the forest trees, 
and so seriously offends the lady that he is sum- 
marily dismissed from her presence. 

Shortly after, however, in spite of his sad ex- 
perience with Jane Smile, we find him paying 
assiduous court to the rustic maiden, Audrey; 
offering "to fetch up her goats," plying her with 
the usual questions, and awaiting her replies with 
the usual anxiety of a lover; but the court fool's 
language and references to classic Ovid are beyond 
the understanding of the simple country wench, 
who ingenuously asks for further information. 
This is somewhat discouraging to the motley lover, 



s^- 



52 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

and he thus complains: "When a man's verses 
cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit 
seconded with the forward child Understanding, 
it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning 
in a little room."j 

He then expresses the wish that the gods had 
made her poetical. This, too, is beyond Audrey's 
comprehension, and she artlessly inquires, "Is it 
honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing?" 
In spite of Touchstone's desire that Audrey should 
be poetical, he has apparently no very exalted 
opinion of poetry, for in reply to her query he 
replies, "No, truly, for the truest poetry is the 
most feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and 
what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers 
they do feign." 

I must confess that I find almost as much diffi' 
culty as Audrey in comprehending the argument 
of Touchstone in the following passages. To 
Audrey's query, "Do you wish then that the gods 
had made me poetical?" Touchstone replies, "I 
do, truly; for thou swear'st to me thou art honest: 
now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope 



TOUCHSTONE 53 

thou didst feign." These words are clear enough, 
even to the simple understanding of Audrey, who 
asks in surprise, "Would you not have me 
honest?" It is Touchstone's reply to this question 
that I find confusing. He evidently has a sincere 
affection for this homely country girl; he admires 
her ingenuous simplicity in spite of her ignorance| 
and his intentions are honorable, for he proposes 
to make her his wife; yet he answers Audrey's 
question, first, with an emphatic negative, "No, 
truly," and then makes the following reservation, 
"Unless thou wert hard favour'd," and gives the 
concluding illogical reason, "For honesty coupled 
to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar." 
It may be that Touchstone's worldly wisdom sees 
danger in too many virtues, and the honesty of 
Audrey is sufficient attraction without beauty. 
There is a ring of sincerity in Audrey's re- 
joinder; a note that argues well for harmony, 
and a longer voyage on the sea of matrimony than 
Jaques allots them. Audrey may not be learned 
or poetical, but neither is she shallow nor vain like 
the little shepherdess, Phoebe; she is not coquet- 



54 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

ting for a compliment, but with refreshing candor 
admits: "Well, I am not fair, and therefore I 
pray the gods to make me honest." I find in Au- 
drey's simple prayer and womanly candor qualities 
indicating that in the choice of a wife Touchstone 
has neither been unwise nor unfortunate. 

It would appear that Touchstone had little 
doubt of the success of his suit, for he not only 
tells Audrey that he will marry her, but has antici- 
pated matters by engaging Sir Oliver Martext, 
the vicar of the next village, to meet them "in this 
place in the forest, and to couple us." 

That Audrey approves of this hasty wooing is 
evidenced by her characteristically implied con- 
sent, "Well, the gods give us joy!" to which 
Touchstone adds, "Amen I" 

\ As the fateful moment approaches, however, 
^Touchstone indulges in some self-communion: 
"A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger 
in this attempt; for here we have no temple but 
the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But 
what, thought ... Is the single man therefore 
blessed? No; as a walled town is more worthier 



TOUCHSTONE S5 

than a village, so is the forehead of a married man 
more honorable than the bare brow of a bachelor; 
and by how much defense is better than no skill, 
by so much is a horn more precious than to want." 
Having arrived at this conclusion. Sir Oliver 
Martext having arrived also. Touchstone is anx- 
ious that the ceremony shall proceed, and asks of 
the vicar, "Will you despatch us here under the 
tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?" 
For reply,' the vicar, looking around, asks, "Is 
there none here to give the woman?" to which the 
fool, who is obviously unfamiliar with the mar- 
riage service responds, "I will not take her on gift 
of^ any man." As this attitude of Touchstone 
seems liable to postpone indefinitely, if not prevent 
the ceremony altogether, Jaques, who has been lis- 
tening unobserved to the entire scene, steps for- 
ward and offers his services. Having, however, 
acquired a profound respect for Touchstone, and 
perceiving that he is in earnest in his desire to be 
married to Audrey, Jaques urges him to have the 
ceremony performed in a church by a properly or- 
dained minister, and the appropriate surroundings 



56 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

of a gentleman; rather than by a hedge-priest in 
the forest, like a beggar. Touchstone hesitates 
before adopting this course, and Shakespeare has 
put an aside speech into his mouth, which if taken 
seriously would destroy much of our respect for 
him. Some of the commentators have taken it 
seriously, and have deduced the conclusion that 
Touchstone intended to deceive Audrey ; but I can- 
not think it. Every action of the fool, and every 
other line that the author has given him, expresses 
sincere regard and indicates honorable intentions. 
The entire speech seems to me to be the spon- 
taneous expression of the humor of the situation, 
as it appears to the keen sense of our motley 
friend. The subject matter is not new nor the 
treatment of it original. Marriage has been the 
theme of jest at all times, to all conditions of 
people, and Touchstone was too instinctively a 
jester not to appreciate the possibility of a jest, 
even on himself. The lines are as follows: 
(Aside) "I am not in the mind but I were better 
to be married of him than of another, for he is 
not like to marry me well, and not being well 



TOUCHSTONE 57 

married, will be a good excuse for me hereafter 
to leave my wife." 

However, Touchstone and Audrey accompany 
Jaques to discuss the matter further, leaving the 
despised Sir Oliver in high dudgeon, and without 
a fee. 

Jaques evidently succeeded in convincing 
Touchstone of the propriety of his suggestion, but 
Audrey fails to comprehend the necessity of de- 
lay. To her limited understanding, one priest is 
as good as another. In the first scene of the fifth 
act she emphatically expresses her impatience, in- 
dicating that she has an opinion, if not a will, of 
her own, and protests, "Faith, the priest was good 
enough, for all the old gentleman's saying." 
Touchstone finds it quite a task for his wit to 
pacify the lady, and is only successful by divert- 
ing her attention to the claims of another to her 
affections; a certain forest youth named William. 
It is a shrewd piece of diplomacy on the part of 
the fool, and not new to the world by any means ; 
to terminate an argument by changing the sub- 
ject, and affecting reproach, or of meeting one 



58 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

accusation by making another. Audrey, however, 
denies the soft impeachment, and fortunately the 
bucolic gentleman referred to appears most op- 
portunely on the scene. 

Touchstone regards the newcomer critically, 
and complacently observes, "It is meat and drink 
to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have 
good wits have much to answer for; we shall 
be flouting, we cannot hold." 

It is a curiously contrasted group we have be- 
fore us now: The country girl, awkward and 
embarrassed in the presence of her rustic suitor, 
and her court trained lover; the forest youth, ill 
at ease, nervously shifting from one foot to the 
other, as he stands, hat in hand before her; and 
the smug, self-satisfied court fool, who conscious 
of possession, revels in his superiority, and re- 
joices in the discomfiture of his unsuccessful rival. 

With what a delightful assumption of patron- 
age. Touchstone questions the simple William, 
encourages, emboldens, then confuses, and finally 
drives the poor fellow from the field with the most 
terrible threats of disaster and death. The scene 



TOUCHSTONE 59 

is rich in comedy, but beneath the surface may be 
appreciated a deep satire on the world. 

One passage especially, presents a most whole- 
some truth, that it is superfluous for me to em- 
phasize, but which I cannot forbear quoting. 
Amongst other questions, Touchstone asks of 
William, "Art thou wise*?" William incau- 
tiously replies, "Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit." 
This is Touchstone's opportunity, and he retorts: 
"Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a 
saying. The fool doth think he is wise, but the 
wise man knows himself to be a fool." 

Touchstone is now summoned by his "master 
and mistress" (Rosalind, disguised as Ganymede, 
and Celia), who evidently acquaint him of their 
matrimonial intentions, and approve of his; for 
the next time we meet the motley "lover and his 
lass," the former tells her, "To-morrow is the joy- 
ful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married," 
to which she candidly and sensibly replies, "I 
do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no 
dishonest desire to be a woman of the world." 

Audrey's wishes are shortly realized; Rosalind, 



6o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the good fairy, waves her wand, and the forest of 
Arden becomes a veritable Temple of Hymen. 
All differences are adjusted, all wrongs righted, 
and true love receives its reward. It is a joyous 
meeting of their betters, to which Touchstone 
brings his prospective bride, and to which they 
are heralded by Jaques in his characteristic 
fashion: ''There is, sure, another flood toward, 
and these couples are coming to the ark! Here 
comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all 
tongues are called fools." 

However, on their appearance he bespeaks a 
welcome for them from the Duke: "Good my 
lord, like this fellow," to which the Duke cour- 
teously replies, "I like him very well." 

Touchstone's acknowledgment is characteristic, 
if not especially gallant; but his self-abnegation 
is scarcely consistent with his previously expressed 
declaration, that he would not take Audrey "on 
gift of any man." However, his concluding epi- 
gram is convincing, and his metaphor perfect: 
"God 'ield you, sir I I desire of you the like. I 
press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 



TOUCHSTONE 61 

copulatives, to swear and forswear, according as 
marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, 
sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own; a 
poor humor of mine, sir, to take that that no 
man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, 
sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul 
oyster." 

The completeness of the character of Touch- 
stone is achieved in his last scene, which I have 
given below in full, with some slight transposi- 
tions. Here Touchstone is in his element. Sur- 
rounded by persons who understand his office and 
can appreciate his wit, he appears at his best. 
The various accomplishments by which he claims 
the title of a courtier, are irresistibly amusing, 
and the humor may be applied to some modern 
views on gallantry, as well as to mediseval stand- 
ards of courtesy. 

No less entertaining is Touchstone's parody on 
certain books on good manners, and on the ethics 
of honor, which attracted some attention at this 
time; and there is a vein of the most delicious 
satire in his definitions of the degrees of a lie, 



62 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the cause of a quarrel, and the efficacy of that 

redeeming, and peace-restoring preposition "if." 

Jaques' presentation of Touchstone to the 

Duke, and the subsequent dialogue is as follows: 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 
motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in 
the forest; he hath been a courtier, he swears. 

Ton-. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flat- 
tered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend, smooth 
with mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; I 
have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? 

Tou. Faith, we met and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh 
cause ? 

Tou. Upon a lie seven times removed — as thus, 
sir. I did disHke the cut of a certain courtier's beard. 
He sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut 
well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the 
Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was 
not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please 
himself, this is called the Quip Modest. If again, it 
was not well cut, he disabled my judgment; this is 
called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well 
cut, he would answer, I spake not true; this is called 
the Reproof Valiant. If again, it was not well cut, 
he would say I lied; this is called the Countercheck 



TOUCHSTONE 63 

Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and 
the Lie Direct. 

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not 
well cut? 

Tou. I durst go no further than the Lie Circum- 
stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and 
so we measured swords and parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
of a lie? 

Toti. O sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as 
you have books for good manners. I will name you 
the degrees: the first, the Retort Courteous; the sec- 
ond, the Quip Modest ; the third, the Reply Churlish ; 
the fourth, the Reproof Valiant ; the fifth, the Counter- 
check Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circum- 
stance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you 
may avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that 
too, with an 'If ! I knew when seven justices could 
not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met 
themselves, one of them thought but of an if ! as, "If 
you said so, then I said so;" and they shook hands 
and swore brothers. Your "if" is the only peace- 
maker; much virtue in "If." 

The concluding compliment of Jaques is but a 
just tribute to the accomplishments of Touch- 
stone, and well epitomizes what I conceive to be 
the poet's conception; while the reply of the Duke 
indicates the vein of satirical truth that underlies 



64 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the entire character, and summarizes the motive, 
as well as the result of the author's clearly ex- 
pressed intention. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as 
good at anything, and yet a fool. 

Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking horse, and 
under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 

It was my privilege to take part in the great 
dramatic festival held in Cincinnati, in 1885. 
One of the plays produced was "As You Like It." 
I played the part of Orlando to the Rosalind of 
that fine actress, Fanny Davenport. Stuart 
Robson was the Touchstone of the occasion, and 
I recall with pleasure the unique and interesting 
performance he gave of the character. His dress 
was that of the conventional jesters; parti-colored 
doublet and hose of the period, with the tradi- 
tional hood, cockscomb and bauble. His walk, 
or perhaps I could better describe it as a strut, 
was like that of the barnyard bird whose head 
adorned his own, and his carriage was in harmony 
with the same idea. His voice: what playgoer 
who has once seen and heard Stuart Robson in 



TOUCHSTONE 65 

any of his humorous characters can forget that 
voice! The peculiar lisp with its ever changing 
inflections, rising to a high treble at the end of 
each sentence, accompanied with a constant snap- 
ping of the eyes, and an abrupt jerking of the 
head from side to side, at almost every other 
word. 

Mr. Robson was held in high esteem so that 
his appearance was greeted with hearty applause, 
and almost every phrase he uttered, with roars 
of laughter. The story of the knight and the 
pancakes never seemed to me so humorous, while 
the request to Celia and Rosalind, to "stand forth, 
stroke your chins and swear by your beards, etc." 
was so ludicrous that the ladies themselves were 
convulsed with laughter and scarcely able to pro- 
ceed with their lines. 

Another scene in which Mr. Robson appeared 
to the greatest advantage was in Scene I of the 
Fifth Act; located in the forest of Arden. The 
characters are Touchstone, Audrey, his country 
sweetheart, and William, a simple rustic. The 
latter character, though comparatively unimpor- 



66 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

tant, was on this occasion played by Mr. William 
H. Crane, out of compliment to his old friend 
and comrade Mr. Robson, with whom he had 
been so long associated. The delightful air of 
superiority assumed by the court fool over the 
bucolic youth, who in his smock frock stood with 
vacuous stare and open-mouthed wonder in fear- 
ful awe of his motley tormentor, was a splendid 
contrast of diversified humor. The keen, incisive 
quality of Mr. Robson's comedy and the intelli- 
gent understanding and appreciation of the text 
underlying it was never better exampled than 
by his delivery of that potent truism, "The fool 
doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows 
himself to be a fool." It was indeed, a gem of 
wisdom in a setting of golden comedy. Again, 
the assumption of anger, the direful threats of 
bloodthirsty consequences with which he over- 
whelmed the terror-stricken William and drove 
him from the field, leaving the fool in full and 
undisputed possession of his lady love were simply 
delicious. 

This scene was rendered doubly effective by the 



TOUCHSTONE 67 

skill and sincerity with which Mr. Crane played 
the part of William. Like a true artist, he 
gave this small bit of character work the same at- 
tention to every detail as though it were the prin- 
cipal part in the comedy. In appearance, he 
looked as if he had stepped out of an old English 
engraving of rural life ; his dialect was perfect and 
his ungainly walk and awkward bearing reminded 
one of the types that may yet be seen and heard 
in the remote villages of the midland counties in 
England. 

In spite of Mr. Robson's success in the earlier 
scenes of the play, I think he was most effective 
in the last act. It may be remembered that here 
the various threads of the plot are drawn together 
and the fabric of the story completed. After 
their adventures in the forest, the several couples, 
by mutual arrangement, meet at a certain point 
where their differences are arranged, their misun- 
derstandings explained and their conciliations 
effected. Among them, come Touchstone and 
Audrey. Here Robson fairly reveled in the situ- 
ation. He strutted, he crowed, and to continue 



68 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the simile, he flapped his wings with the tri- 
umphant satisfaction of a barnyard rooster; 
argued his right to be called a courtier with the 
logic of a lawyer, and expounded the degrees of 
a lie with the wisdom of an oracle. 

What old playgoer does not recall the delicacy 
and refinement of Mr. James Lewis's perform- 
ance of the Shakespearean clowns in the several 
comedy revivals at Daly's Theater, New York. 
"As You Like It" was produced there in the early 
eighties, with Ada Rehan as Rosalind, John Drew 
as Orlando, and Mr. Lewis (Little Jimmie Lewis, 
as he was affectionately called) as Touchstone. 
The cameo clearness of his conception, the quaint 
incisiveness of his delivery, the significance of 
his business, and the delicate finish of the entire 
characterization left an impression never to be 
forgotten. The performance had not that 
breadth of humor given to it by some comedians, 
nor the rich unction of others, but it was imbued 
with the quaint little gentleman's own personal- 



TOUCHSTONE 69 

ity, and presented with an artistic instinct that 
permeated every character he assumed. 

I was a witness to an eloquent though silent 
tribute paid to Mr. Lewis by a stranger, of which 
the actor was, at the time, unconscious. 

Mr. Lewis was walking down Broadway one 
afternoon in the early fall. I was a short dis- 
tance behind him. Approaching, somewhat 
slowly, from the opposite direction was a well- 
groomed gentleman of middle age, apparently a 
business man returning from his office down town. 
The expression of the gentleman was absorbed 
and thoughtful, as if he were revolving some 
knotty problem in his mind. As he neared Mr. 
Lewis he raised his eyes and, recognizing the 
comedian, his expression changed completely; a 
smile replaced his frown, his eyes brightened, and 
the careworn look left him entirely. He paused 
slightly as Mr. Lewis passed him, looked after 
the retreating figure of the comedian a second, 
then resumed his journey up town with a quick- 



70 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

ened step and smiling face, the tenor of his 
thoughts apparently changed and brightened by 
the memory of the pleasures he had enjoyed by 
the performances of the talented little gentleman 
he had so unexpectedly met and recognized. 

I related the incident to Mr. Lewis later. It 
gratified him exceedingly, and he told me he felt 
it to be one of the most delightful compliments 
he had ever received. 

Another Touchstone worthy of note was that 
presented by Mr. Edwin Stevens, the successor 
of Mr. Lewis as the comedian of Daly's Theater. 
Equally artistic was Mr. Stevens, but entirely dif- 
ferent in methods as he was in features and 
physique. Mr. Stevens seemed to take his posi- 
tion more seriously than Mr. Lewis and main- 
tained a greater personal dignity. He spoke his 
lines with the deliberation of oracular wisdom 
rather than with spontaneous wit, and among the 
courtiers carried himself as a social equal rather 
than as a retainer. He wooed the humble 
Audrey with condescension, and accepted com- 



TOUCHSTONE 71 

mendation as a matter of course. It was a most 
delightful performance of the character from the 
point of view of Mr. Stevens, and a worthy 
achievement of a versatile and intelligent artist. 



TRINCULO 

IN 

THE TEMPEST 

''What a pied ninny's this.'" 

TRINCULO, in 'The Tempest," is the only 
one of Shakespeare's fools who in the dram- 
atis personae of the play is called a jester; and 
is the one least worthy of the title. 

Fool to the court of Alonzo, King of Naples, 
Trinculo, while accompanying his master and 
others on a sea voyage, is shipwrecked and cast, 
with them, upon an unknown and apparently un- 
inhabited island. Here he has wonderful adven- 
tures, meets extraordinary beings, and is brought, 
by the art of Prospero, the genius of the island, 
under the influence of fairies, sprites, goblins, and 
other strange creatures of the author's imagination. 

Whatever may have been Trinculo's ability as 
72 



TRINCULO 73 

a wit at court, he certainly does not appear to 
great advantage in that respect on the island, 
although, it must be admitted, he is environed by 
an atmosphere of discomfort and danger, which 
while affording amusement to the observer, savors 
little of humor to him. 

In his first scene he is out on an open plain, 
"with neither bush nor shrub" in a heavy storm; 
on his next appearance he is under the influence 
of liquor; and the third time we meet him, he has 
been pursued by fiends through a horse-pond, and 
is saturated with its offensive contents. 

He is dominated in the first instance by terror, 
in the second by liquor, in the third by anger 
and disgust; and is in turn cowardly, maudlin, 
silly and disgusting. His wit is the poorest kind 
of punning, and his pranks, if so they may be 
called, are not spontaneous fun, but drunken 
folly. 

• He is ungrateful and treacherous. On being 
rescued from the sea, he exhibits no anxiety for 
the safety of his master, nor loyalty to his mem- 
ory, when he is supposed to be lost; and he readily 



74 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

joins in the miserable plot with Stephano, the 
drunken butler, to murder Prospero, and gain pos- 
session of the island. 

Even Caliban, the ignorant semi-savage, has a 
contempt for him, and in turn calls him "a pied 
ninny," "a jesting monkey," and "a scurvy 
patch"; while Stephano, his countryman and 
comrade, in reply to the fool's boast that "I can 
swim like a duck," retorts, "Though thou cans' t 
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose"; 
and does not hesitate to strike him when he is 
offended. 

The most pointed epigram made by Trinculo 
is in the second scene of the second act, when, 
seeking shelter from the storm under the gaber- 
dine of Caliban, who is apparently dead, he says, 
"Misery acquaints a man with strange bed- 
fellows." 

His best retort is in the last scene of the last 
act, while still enveloped in the foul effluvium of 
the horse-pond, when he is asked by Alonzo, his 
master, "How cam's t thou in this pickle"?" to 
which he replies: "I have been in such a pickle, 




T, C. Cooke as "Trinculo" in "The Tempest' 



TRINCULO 75 

since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never 
out of my bones; I shall not fear fly-blowing." 

He indicates no learning, and his philosophy 
is superficial. Of this he is apparently conscious, 
for in Act three. Scene two, he says: "There's 
but five upon this isle; we are three of them; if 
the other two be brained like us, the state 
totters." 

As to his courage, it is best described by him- 
self: "Was there ever man a coward, that hath 
drunk so much sack as I to-day *?" 

Taken in its entirety, I cannot but regard the 
charact-er of Trinculo as the least interesting of 
the court jesters that Shakespeare has given us; 
a character type that was still in existence when 
the poet lived and wrote, examples of which 
he must have seen at Kenilworth, at the court of 
Elizabeth, and later at that of James I, in Lon- 
don. The species, however, was rapidly becom- 
ing extinct; printing began to develop, knowl- 
edge to be more general, and literature to be ap- 
preciated ; entertainment was found in the printed 
publications of wit and humor, rather than from 



76 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the lips of the jester, and the quality of the latter 
began to deteriorate from the witty retainer of the 
court, to the coarse buffoon whose jests ap- 
pealed to the low and the ignorant, rather than to 
the cultivated and intelligent. 

It was at this period of deterioration that 
Shakespeare wrote "The Tempest," and possibly 
his conception of Trinculo may be based upon the 
conditions that then existed, and the character 
made to present his own view of the coarseness of 
expression and the poverty of wit exhibited by 
the professional fools of his time. 

That Shakespeare was alive to the current 
events of the period in which he wrote is illus- 
trated by a passage spoken by Trinculo in his 
first scene. 

A number of American Indians had been 
brought from the newly established colony of Vir- 
ginia to London; the novelty of their color, ap- 
pearance and dress attracted great attention, and 
caused considerable excitement and curiosity. 
One of the Indians succumbed to the rigors of the 



TRINCULO 77 

English climate, and died, the corpse being subse- 
quently placed on public exhibition, many per- 
sons paying a substantial fee to look at it. 

When Trinculo sees the apparently dead body 
of Caliban lying upon the ground, and does not 
know whether it is "a man or a fish," but from 
its foul odor believes it to be the latter, the poet 
satirizes the prevailing sensation, in the words of 
the fool : "A strange fish ! Were I in England 
now (as I once was) and had but this fish painted, 
not a holiday fool there but would give a piece 
of silver; there would this monster make a man; 
any strange beast there makes a man. When 
they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, 
they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian." 



FESTE 
IN 
TWELFTH NIGHT 

"/ am indeed not her fool^ hut her corrupter of 
words'^ 

IN the list of the characters in "Twelfth 
Night," the fool is not given a name. He is 
coupled with Fabian, as "Clown," and together 
they are called "Servants to Olivia," but in Act 
2, Scene 4 of the play, he is spoken of by Curio, 
a gentleman attending on the Duke, as "Feste," 
and is described as "the jester, a fool that the 
Lady Olivia's father took much delight in." He 
is a combination of jester and minstrel, and is a 
member of the household of the Countess Olivia, 
a wealthy noblewoman of Illyria. 

Feste is not of the gentle disposition of Yorick, 
nor of the mental fiber of Touchstone; his wit has 
neither the spontaneous humor we can imagine in 

78 



FESTE 79 

the former, nor the sententious wisdom we find 
in the latter; it is at times labored, frequently 
forced, and seldom free from obvious effort. It 
is professional foolery, rather than intuitive 
fun. 

He is o' the world, worldly; his conversation 
is coarse, even for the period, and many of his 
jests are vulgar. 

His retorts are neither keen nor incisive; they 
have the brutality of the cudgel, rather than the 
point of the rapier. 

He trusts more to "good fooling" than to ready 
wit, and many of his sallies are but thinly dis- 
guised impudence; yet it must be admitted that 
at times he makes some telling points, and de- 
livers some very clever epigrams. 

He is shrewd and thrifty if not covetous; he 
does not scruple to accept money, even from 
strangers, nor does he hesitate broadly to suggest 
liberality to those patrons who are tardy with 
their bounty. 

Disguised as Sir Topaz he quotes Latin aptly 
and accurately; he ^ows familiarity with Gre- 



8o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

cian history and legend, and is not unacquainted 
with the philosophy of Pythagoras. 

In spite of his knowledge, he appears to be tol- 
erated rather than appreciated; and although he 
is admitted to the revels of Sir Toby Belch, and 
Sir Andrew Aguecheek, on a comparative equal- 
ity, it is chiefly on account of his accomplishments^ 
as a minstrel. He associates with the servants 
of the house, and is treated as one by his mis- 
tress. 

His best friend appears to be Maria, the wait- 
ing-woman to Lady Olivia. On his first appear- 
ance in the play, in Act i. Scene 5, he is appar- 
ently seeking her good offices with her mistress, 
to excuse his evidently unauthorized, and lengthy 
absence from the household. With feminine 
curiosity Maria endeavors to gain from him an 
account of his truancy, but Feste shrewdly avoids 
any compromising admissions. Maria, somewhat 
irritated, expresses herself with characteristic de- 
cision, and warns him of the severe punishment 
he may expect. Feste assumes a recklessness, but 
realizes the gravity of his offense : 



FESTE 81 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or 
I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter 
in way of thy excuse ; my lady will hang thee for thy 
absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me; he that is well hanged in 
this world needs to fear no colors. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer; I can tell thee where 
that saying was born, of *'I fear no colors." 

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary? 

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to 
say in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; 
and those that are fools, let them use their talents. 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long ab- 
sent. . . . Here comes my lady; make your excuse 
wisely, you were best. 

Maria leaves him, and being alone Feste thus 
soliloquizes: "Wit, an't be thy will, put me into 
good fooling I Those wits, that think they have 
thee, do very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure 
I lack thee, may pass for a wise man; for what 
says Quinapalus^ 'Better a witty fool than a 
foolish wit.' " 

The Lady Olivia enters, whom he respectfully 
salutes, with: "God bless thee, lady I" 



82 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

But the lady is evidently much displeased, and 
very promptly and indignantly commands: 
"Take the fool away." 

With characteristic audacity the fool chal- 
lenges the lady, in the following dialogue: 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 
lady. 

OH. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you; 
besides you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then 
is the fool not dry ; hid the dishonest man mend him- 
self ; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; anything 
that's mended is but patched ; virtue that transgresses 
is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but 
patched with virtue. . . . The lady bade take away the 
fool ; therefore I say again, take her away. 

Oh. Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo. Misprison in the highest degree! . . . Good 
madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 

OH. Can you do it? 

Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 

OH. Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechise you for it. . . . Good ma- 
donna, why mourn'st thou? 

OH. Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 

OH. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 



FESTE 83 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away the fool, 
gentlemen. 

The wit of the fool somewhat molifies the 
anger of the lady, who appeals to Malvolio to 
indorse her approval of his readiness : "Doth he 
not mend'?" 

But the steward is no friend of Feste, and re- 
plies with a sarcasm that is not lost on the fool: 
"Yes; infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever 
make the better fool." 

This brings from Feste the prompt and clever 
retort: "God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, 
for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby 
will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will 
not pass his word for twopence that you are no 
fool." 

Malvolio, thus goaded, continues to dispraise 
the fool, but Olivia warmly defends him, and ad- 
ministers a severe reproof to the steward for his 
vanity: "O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio. 
. . . There is no slander in an allowed fool, 
though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in 



84 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

a known discreet man, though he do nothing but 
reprove." 

Feste is not without gratitude to his mistress 
for his defense, and thus expresses it: "Now 
Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak- 
est well of fools." 

But on the retirement of Malvolio, the lady 
does not hesitate to rebuke the fool: "Now you 
see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people 
dislike it." 

The dialogue is here interrupted by the advent 
of Sir Toby Belch, a cousin of the Lady Olivia, 
who appears on the scene in a very drunken con- 
dition. The lady is properly indignant, and de- 
mands of Feste: "What's a drunken man like, 
fool?" 

Feste replies: "Like a drown'd man, a fool 
and a madman; one draught above heat makes 
him a fool, the second mads him, and a third 
drowns him." 

Olivia, pleased with the fool's epigrammatic 
humor, continues the pleasantry: "Go thou and 



FESTE Ss 

seek the crowner, and let him sit o* my coz; for 
he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: 
go look after him." 

Feste obeys, and retires with the words: "He 
is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look 
to the madman." 

In Marie Wainwright's production of this ex- 
quisite comedy, in which she toured the country 
some seasons ago, the part of Feste was played 
by Mr. E. Y. Bachus, who brought a keen intelli- 
gence and appreciation to his performance. In 
the foregoing scene, Mr. Bachus mitigated the 
gross impertinence of Feste to his mistress by the 
introduction of some business that I believe was 
entirely original with him. He carried in his 
pouch or pocket some little dolls in the form of 
diminutive zanies, which as the dialogue pro- 
gressed he proceeded with apparent unconscious- 
ness to dress. This business seemed to dull the 
edge of his rudeness by dividing the attention of 
his hearers between his words and his actions. 
At the conclusion of the dialogue, Feste dropped 



86 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

his little zanies on the ground; and at his exit 
Marie picked them up, and contemptuously threw 
them after him. 

fFeste next appears in the third scene of Act 2, 
joining in the noisy midnight revels of Sir Toby 
and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He sings them a 
love song, and without any special wit ridicules 
the shallow egotistical affectations of the one, and 
the drunken folly of the other. He improvises 
a "catch" cleverly, but promptly disappears at 
the first sign of trouble. 

Feste's ability as a minstrel is evidently known 
and appreciated, for in the fourth scene he is sent 
for by the Duke Orsino, to sing to him, who, at 
the conclusion of the song gives him money: 

Duke. There's for thy pains. 
Fes. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 
Fes. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time 
or another. 

A truism, as wise as witty. 
The character as well as the compass of Feste's 
capacity is well illustrated in the first scene of the 



FESTE 87 

third act, Olivia's garden. The fool, carrying 
his tabor, is met by Viola, disguised as Cesario and 
in an admirable interchange of equivoque aptly 
describes the faculty of wit, the province of the 
fool, and the prevalence of folly. The scene is 
brief, but as a "corrupter of words" the fool ap- 
pears to better advantage than in any other part of 
the play, and displays a readiness of retort that is 
not always in evidence. Viola furnishes him his 
first opportunity by her greeting : 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music; dost thou 
live by thy tabor? 

Fes. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman? 

Fes. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church ; 
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by 
the church. 

Vio. So thou may'st say the King lives by a beg- 
gar, if a beggar dwell near him ; or, the church stands 
by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 

Fes. You have said, sir. ... A sentence is but a 
cheveril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong 
side may be turned outward J 

Laughingly acknowledging the truth of this, 
Viola compliments him on his humor and clever- 



88 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

ness: "I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and 
carest for nothing." 

The reply she receives, however, is neither po- 
lite nor encouraging: "Not so, sir, I do care for 
something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care 
for you ; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would 
it would make you invisible." 

Ignoring this discourtesy, Viola asks: "Art 
not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?" 

Again Feste justifies his office by the descrip- 
tion he gives of himself: "No, indeed, sir; the 
Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no fool, 
sir, till she be married; and fools are as like hus- 
bands as pilchards are to herrings; the husband's 
the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her 
corrupter of words." 

In reply to Viola's assertion that she saw Feste 
recently at the palace of the Count Orsino, the 
jester gives us the following terse but eloquent 
truism: "Foolery, sir, doth walk about the orb 
like the sun; it shines everywhere." 

At this, Viola, who is disguised as a youth, and 
is mistaken for one by Feste, offers him a coin. 



FESTE 89 

In way of thanks the latter exclaims: "Now 
Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a 
beard." 

Viola is deeply in love with the Duke Orsino, 
who is ignorant of her passion; and at this sally 
of the fool, wittily rejoins: "By my troth, I'll 
tell thee; I am almost sick for one, though I would 
not have it grow on my chin." 

Feste does not understand this allusion, but 
holding the coin he has received in his hand, 
makes the pointed suggestion: "Would not a 
pair of these have bred, sir^" 

Viola replies: "Yes, being kept together and 
put to use." 

Feste is resourceful, and returns to the charge 
armed with a simile from Grecian legend. 

Fes. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, 
to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 

Vio. I understand you, sir, 'tis well begged. 

Fes. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. 

Finding his efforts to increase his bounty inef- 
fectual, Feste continues to "dally nicely with 



90 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

words," and then retires. "My lady is within, 
sir. I will construe to them whence you come; 
who you are and what you would are out of my 
welkin; I might say element, but the word is 
overworn." 

It is the preceding scene that suggests to Viola 
the passage that so aptly describes the require- 
ments of a fool, which I have quoted at length in 
the introduction to this book, and which I repro- 
duce here to accentuate its significance. 

This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; 

And to do that well craves a kind of wit ; 

He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 

The quality of persons, and the time, 

And, like the haggard, check at every feather 

That comes before his eye. This is a practice 

As full of labor as a wise man's art; 

For folly that he wisely shows is fit ; 

But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 

The complications that arise in Act 4, conse- 
quent on the disguise of Viola as Cesario, and 
her subsequent mistaken identity for Sebastian, 
occur in rapid succession. Feste, of course, be- 
comes involved in them, and in the first scene, 



FESTE 91 

with the real Sebastian, there is a dialogue of 
considerable humor. Feste, as usual, is "dal- 
lying with words" and unusually, exhibiting some 
impatience; however the irritation is quickly 
allayed by the soothing application of a coin, a 
remedy that seems effective with the fool at all 
times. 

In the second scene, Feste, at the instigation of 
Maria, assumes the character of Sir Topaz, the 
curate, to assist in tormenting his old enemy Mal- 
volio, who, by a trick of that mischief-loving 
maid, has been seized as a madman, bound, and 
confined in a dark cellar. The scene is one of 
good fooling, rather than witty dialogue; but in 
assuming the robe of the curate, Feste makes some 
reflections indicating that sanctimony and hypoc- 
risy were as prevalent in the days of Shakespeare 
as they unfortunately are in ours : 

Fes. Well I'll put it on, and I will dissemble my- 
self in't, and I would I were the first that ever dis- 
sembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to be- 
come the function well, nor lean enough to be 
thought a good student ; . . . but as the old hermit of 
Prague very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 



92 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

'That that is, is; so I, being master parson, am mas- 
ter parson, for what is 'that' but 'that'? and 'is' but 

'is'?" 

He greets Sir Toby with a Latin salutation, and 
bears himself with humorous gravity as Sir 
Topaz. He uses big words, and applies them 
with a contrary meaning. He questions Mal- 
volio as to his views on the opinions of Pythag- 
oras concerning wild fowl, and leaves him with 
assumed indignation when the alleged lunatic 
will not agree with the philosopher. 

Fes. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt 
hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of 
thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dis- 
possess the soul of thy grandam. 

Feste then doffs his disguise, and addresses 
Malvolio in his own character, with assumed 
sympathy: "Alas, sir, how fell you besides your 
five wits?" 

"I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art," 
replies Malvolio. 

"Then," retorts Feste; "you are mad in- 
deed, if you be no better in your wits than a 
fool." 



FESTE 93 

Feste continues to plague the poor steward, 
now as Sir Topaz, now as himself, reveling in the 
prisoner's discomfiture till the man is almost dis- 
tracted, and begs for candle, ink, and paper that 
he may communicate with his mistress. These 
articles Feste promises to obtain, but before going 
delivers a parting shaft : 

Fes. Are you not mad indeed ? or do you but coun- 
terfeit? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 

Fes. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his 
brains. 

And with a merry catch, the laughing fool 
leaves the poor imprisoned steward to his misery. 

Malvolio evidently obtains his ink and paper, 
writes his letter, and intrusts it to Feste for de- 
livery; the latter, however, pockets the missive, 
and on the principle that "A mad man's epistles 
are no gospels, so it skills not when they are de- 
livered," keeps it there till inclination prompts, 
and opportunity provides a suitable occasion to 
present it to his mistress. 

In the meantime, in company with Fabian, Feste 



94 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

encounters the Duke Orsino, for whom he lately 
sang. The Duke asks if they belong to the 
household of the Lady Olivia. With his usual 
effrontery and lack of reverence, he answers, 
"Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings." 

The Duke recognizes him, and graciously in- 
quires: "How dost thou, my good fellow*?" 

His reply and argument are worthy a wiser 
man than Feste, and exhibit a philosophy as 
sound, as it is wholesome. 

Fes. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy 
friends. 

Fes. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be? 

Fes. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass 
of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so 
that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of my- 
self, and by my friends I am abused : . . . why, then, 
the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. 

Appreciating the shrewd wisdom of the fool, 
the Duke exclaims, "This is excellent," which 
gives Feste an opportunity for one of the cleverest 
retorts in the play: 



FESTE 95 

Fes. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you to 
be one of my friends. 

The Duke is himself not without wit, and 
promptly recognizing the ready sarcasm of the 
fool, replies: "Thou shalt not be the worse for 
me; there's gold." 

Feste accepts the gratuity, and again exhibits 
his avaricious shrewdness by suggesting: 

Fes. But that it would be double dealing, sir, I 
would you could make it another. 

After a brief passage of protest and replication, 
the Duke yields to the fool's clever pleading: 

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a 
double-dealer; there's another. 

Even this liberality does not satisfy the greed 
of the fool, who again importunes the Duke, on 
the principle that "The third pays for all." But 
that nobleman is not so easily cajoled, and deliv- 
ers his ultimatum with some emphasis. 

( 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
this throw; if you will let your lady know I am here 
to speak with her, it may awake my bounty further. 



96 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Finding that any further effort to enlarge his 
purse at the expense of the Duke would be use- 
less, for the present, Feste retires; not, however, 
without a parting hint of future possibilities. 

Fes. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come 
again. I go sir; but, as you say, sir, let your bounty 
take a nap, I will awake it anon. 

After much delay, Feste finds an opportunity 
to deliver the letter of Malvolio to his mistress. 
She commands him to "open and read it," which 
he proceeds to do, prefacing his task with the ad- 
monition : 

Fes. Look, then, to be well edified when the fool 
delivers the madman. 

But Lady Olivia has had enough of his folly, 
and instructs another to read the letter, which 
being done explains the trick that has been played 
on Malvolio, and assists in unraveling the com- 
plications, and clearing up the mysteries of the 
play. Malvolio's humiliation is sufficient pun- 
ishment to all but the fool, whose petty nature 
cannot refrain from gloating over his fallen foe, 
by repeating the passages in the decoying letter, 




J3 

to 
Z 



FESTE 97 

and former reproaches that he has received at the 
hands of the steward: 

Fes. Why, **Some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
them," I was one, sir, in this interlude; . . . "By the 
Lord, fool, I am not mad." But do you remember? 
''Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? an 
you smile not, he's gagged." 

And to quote Teste's own words in conclusion: 
"And thus the whirligig of time brings in his 
revenges." 

At the culmination of what may be termed the 
serious interest of the play, all the characters ex- 
cept the clown retire: he being alone concludes 
the comedy with a song: 

When that I was and a little tiny boy, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to man's estate, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, alas! to wive. 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, | 



98 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

By swaggering could I never thrive, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came unto my beds, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
With toss-pots still had drunken heads, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
But that's all one, our play is done. 
And we'll strive to please you every day. 

This song has caused such an amount of con- 
flicting comment, so opposite in its conclusions, 
that I append a few excerpts to assist the reader 
in his consideration of its intention and sig- 
nificance. 

George P. Goodale, the dramatic critic, incor- 
porates the view of Charles Knight in one of a 
series of essays on the subject, published recently, 
under the caption of "The Kaleidoscope" in The 
Detroit Free Press. He says : "The song of the 
Clown, originally given as an epilogue, though 
not retained in the acting editions of the hour, is 
judiciously regarded as the most philosophical 
Clown song on record, on the discoverable wis- 



FESTE 99 

dom of which a treatise might be written. 
Charles Knight, indeed, goes so far as to charac- 
terize it as the history of a life, from the condition 
of a little tiny boy, through man's estate, to de- 
caying age. The conclusion is that what is true 
of the individual is true of the species, and that 
what was of yesterday was also of generations 
long passed away — for 'a great while ago the 
world begun.' " 

Howard Staunton takes another view of the 
song, and quotes Stevens, in support of his theory, 
in his notes on the subject: "It is to be regretted, 
perhaps, that this 'nonsensical ditty,' as Stevens 
terms it, has not been long since degraded to the 
foot-notes. It was evidently one of those jigs, 
with which it was the rude custom of the Clown 
to gratify the groundlings upon the conclusion of 
a play. These absurd compositions, intended 
only as a vehicle for buffoonery, were usually im- 
provizations of the singer, tagged to some popular 
ballad-burden — or the first lines of various songs 
strung together in ludicrous juxtaposition, at the 
end of each of which, the performer indulged in 



100 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

hideous grimace, and a grotesque sort of 'Jump 
Jim Crow' dance." 

Weiss takes a more sentimental view of the 
song, and, in a somewhat lengthy essay, attaches 
to it a deep significance, concluding with a tender 
reference to the Fool in King Lear, who uses some 
of the lines of the same song, but with a far dif- 
ferent motive. "When the play is over, . . . 
Feste is left alone upon the stage. Then he sings 
a song which conveys to us his feeling of the 
world's partiality: all things proceed according to 
law; nobody is humored; people must abide the 
consequence of their actions, 'for the rain it 
raineth every day.' A 'little tiny boy' may have 
his toy; but a man must guard against knavery 
and thieving: marriage itself cannot be sweetened 
by swaggering; whoso drinks with 'toss-pots' will 
get a 'drunken head' : it is a very old world, and 
began so long ago that no change in its habits 
can be looked for. The grave insinuation of this 
song is touched with the vague, soft bloom of the 
play. . . . The note is hardly more presageful 
than the cricket's stir in the late silence of a sum- 



FESTE loi 

mcr. How gracious hath Shakespeare been to 
mankind in this play. He could not do other- 
wise than leave Feste all alone to pronounce its 
benediction, for his heart was a nest of songs 
whence they rose to whistle with the air of wis- 
dom. Alas for the poor fool in Lear who sang 
to drown the cries from a violated nest." 

I wish that I could take the same view as Dr. 
Weiss of the song and the singer. It is not only 
ingenious but poetical in the extreme and is a 
reflex of the gentle nature and sweet fancy of the 
writer; but with exception of the love songs, sung 
as a minstrel, I do not find a line of poetry in the 
part of the jester, nor a single expression of sin- 
cere or even simulated sentimentality. 

Lloyd seems to have summed up the character 
concisely when he says: "He knows the world 
too well ... to feel much sympathy for any- 
body, or consequently to get much in return." 
While Ulrici goes still further and asserts: "He 
(Feste) alone in full consciousness contemplates 
life as a merry Twelfth Night, in which every 
one has, in fact, only to play his allotted part to 



102 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the greatest possible amusement of himself and 
others." 

For my part I think the song is the conven- 
tional conclusion of the play, appropriate, but 
with no special significance. 

The same design is followed in "Love's Labor's 
Lost," and the "Midsummer Night's Dream"; 
they both terminate with a song. Epilogues con- 
clude "As You Like It" and "Henry VIII"; and 
Chorus closes the historical plays. The tragedies 
alone close with the culminating incident. 

I recall when almost every form of dramatic 
composition closed with a "Tag," and it was one 
of the superstitions of the dramatic profession, 
that to speak the tag at rehearsal augured failure. 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 

IN 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

''A Merry Devir 

IN that delightful comedy, "The Merchant of 
Venice," we have a type of the shrewd but 
ignorant serving man, or boy, drawn on the same 
lines as Launce and Speed in "The Two Gentle- 
men of Verona," and the two Dromios, in "The 
Comedy of Errors," but apparently younger and 
less matured than either of them. 

His name is Launcelot Gobbo, a fact of which 
he is somewhat proud. He has a crude philos- 
ophy and a rude kind of wit. He uses big words 
and misapplies them most ingenuously. He is 
good-natured, full of fun, and rejoices in a prac- 
tical jest. 

Launcelot is the servant to Shylock, a wealthy 
Jewish merchant and money lender of Venice, 

103 



104 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

with whom he lives and of whom he stands in 
wholesome awe. His fun-loving nature, how- 
ever, has served to brighten the dull and dreary 
home of that stern and revengeful gentleman, a 
fact that Jessica, the Jew's daughter, frankly 
acknowledges in her first interview with the boy. 

Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil 
Did'st rob it of some taste of tediousness. 

Launcelot does not appear till the second scene 
of the second act of the comedy, when we find 
him stealthily leaving his master's house. We 
learn that he feels aggrieved at some apparent 
wrong at the hands of his employer, and is debat- 
ing whether to remain in his service, or to run 
away. His soliloquy or self-argument on the 
point is most entertaining. He would be just, 
but being both plaintiff and defendant, as well 
as advocate and judge of the question at issue, 
he can scarcely be credited with impartiality. 
However, the motives that he frankly acknowl- 
edges, and the reasons he advances are most de- 
lightfully human, and most humorously ex- 
pressed. The entire passage is a quaint, and by 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 105 

no means unnatural, self-contention between duty 
and inclination; the conclusion, as a matter of 
course, being in favor of inclination. 

Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run from 
this Jew, my master: the fiend is at mine elbow, and 
tempts me, saying to me, "Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, 
good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot 
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away." My 
conscience says — "No; take heed, honest Launcelot; 
take heed, honest Gobbo; or," as aforesaid, ''honest 
Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with 
thy heels." — Well, the most courageous fiend bids me 
pack ; via ! says the fiend ; away, says the fiend ; for the 
heavens rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and 
run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck 
of my heart, says very wisely to me — "my honest 
friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son" — or 
rather an honest woman's son; — for, indeed, my 
father did something smack, something grow to, — he 
had a kind of taste; — well, my conscience says — 
"Launcelot, budge not;" "budge," says the fiend; 
"budge not," says my conscience. Conscience, say I, 
you counsel well ; fiend, say I, you counsel well ; to be 
ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew, 
my master, who. Heaven bless the mark! is a kind of 
devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be 
ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the 
devil himself: certainly, the Jew is the very devil 
incarnation, and, in my conscience, my conscience is 



io6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me 
to stay with the Jew : the fiend gives the more friendly 
counsel! I will run; fiend, my heels are at your com- 
mandment, I will run. 

However, Launcelot does not run; he is spared 
that violence to his conscientious scruples by the 
unexpected advent of his father, an old Italian 
peasant, v^hose voice is heard calling in the dis- 
tance, and halts the would-be runaway. 

Launcelot's decision of character is not very 
marked, nor his resentments very strong, for in a 
moment his wrongs are forgotten, and he is de- 
signing a practical jest on his aged parent. 

"O* heavens !" he exclaims, "this is my true- 
begotten father; who, being more than sand- 
blind, high-gravel-blind, knows me not: — I will 
try confusions with him." 

Old Gobbo, bent with age, almost blind, and 
feeling his way by the aid of a staff, hobbles on 
the scene; he carries a small basket on his arm, 
and in a voice of "childish treble" cries: "Mas- 
ter young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way 
to master Jew's ^" 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 107 

Launcelot takes the old fellow by the shoul- 
ders, and turns him first to the right, then to the 
left, and finally completely round, giving him 
the following, somewhat confusing directions: 
"Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- 
ing, but at the next turning of all, on your left; 
marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, 
but turn down directly to the Jew's house." 

Small wonder that the old man exclaims: 
"By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit." 

However, he is seeking and most anxious to 
find his son, and as soon as he has recovered from 
the jolting he has received at the hands of his 
demonstrative informant, he asks him the follow- 
ing most extraordinary and confusing question: 
"Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that 
dwells with him, dwell with him, or no^" 

This is excellent matter for the boy to try con- 
fusions with, so he answers question with ques- 
tion, prefacing it, however, with an aside, "Mark 
me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you 
of young Master Launcelot^" 

But the old man will not admit that his son 



io8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

is entitled to the dignity of "Master" Launcelot: 
so that eccentric young gentleman, who certainly 
has a novel sense of humor, tells him that his son 
is dead. The sincere grief of the old man evi- 
dently shames the boy, for he quickly changes 
his tone, and asks: "Do you know me, father?" 

Old Gobbo pitifully replies: "Alack, sir, I 
am sand blind; I know you not." 

This induces some shrewd observations from 
Launcelot, which are worthy of note: "If you 
had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me : 
it is a wise father that knows his own child." 

Launcelot then kneels down with his back to 
his father, and continues: "Give me your bless- 
ing: truth will come to light, murder cannot be 
hid long, a man's son may, but in the end truth 
will out." 

The old man has been deceived once and hesi- 
tates; upon which Launcelot exclaims with some 
impatience : "Pray you, let's have no more fool- 
ing about it, but give me your blessing; I am 
Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, 
your child that shall be." 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 109 

Still the old man is not convinced, and pro- 
tests : "I cannot think you are my son." 

To which Launcelot answers: "I know not 
what I shall think of that; but I am sure Mar- 
gery, your wife, is my mother." 

This is conclusive, and Old Gobbo proceeds to 
lay his hand upon his son's head to give him his 
blessing; but Launcelot having knelt with his 
back towards him, the paternal hand encounters 
the back of the boy's head which is crowned with 
a luxurious growth of hair, and causes the old 
man to exclaim: "Lord worshipp'd might he 
be! what a beard thou hast got: thou hast got 
more hair on thy chin than Dobbin, my fill-horse, 
has on his tail." 

Which informs us, that though "exceeding 
poor," Gobbo is sufficiently well off to own a 
shaft horse, and as he subsequently states, he has 
brought a dish of doves as a present to Launce- 
lot's master, we may infer that he and his wife 
Margery cultivate a piece of ground, or a small 
farm outside the city; and possibly raise pigeons 
and doves, a not uncommon industry among the 



no THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Italian peasantry. Having established his iden- 
tity with his father, Launcelot proceeds to tell 
him of his intention to run away from the Jew's 
service, and we gather his reason to be, that he 
does not get sufficient food to satisfy his youthful 
appetite; but perhaps the fact that the Lord Bas- 
sanio is engaging servants, and giving them "rare 
new liveries," may be the temptation. 

The contemptuous reference to the Jewish race 
by this ignorant boy, and his vulgar pun on the 
word Jew are significant indications of the general 
prejudice against the Jews at this period; not only 
in Venice, but in all parts of the civilized world. 

Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have set 
up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have 
run some ground. My master's a very Jew ; give him 
a present ! give him a halter ; I am famish in his serv- 
ice; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. 
Father, I am glad you are come ; give me your present 
to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new 
liveries ; if I serve not him, I will run as far as God 
has any ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the 
man : — to him, father ; for I am a Jew if I serve the 
Jew any longer. 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO iii 

The interview between Old Gobbo, his son, and 
the Lord Bassanio is delightfully entertaining. 
Launcelot's usual volubility halts in the presence 
of the young nobleman, and his father's assistance 
becomes necessary to prefer the suit "impertinent" 
to himself, and express "the very defect of the 
matter." However, the suit is granted, and 
Launcelot is instructed to take leave of his old 
master, and report at the lodgings of his new em- 
ployer. The self-satisfaction of Master Launce- 
lot at his success is most humorously expressed, 
and with an egotism equally amusing; while his 
optimistic views of the future, obtained from the 
lines in his hand, indicate a confidence in the 
science of palmistry, which the author evidently 
does not share. 

Father, in. — I cannot get a service, no ; I have ne'er 
a tongue in my head. — Well, if any man in Italy have 
a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book ! 
— I shall have good fortune. — Go to, here's a simple 
line of life; here's a small trifle of wives; alas! fifteen 
wives is nothing! eleven widows and nine maids is a 
simple coming-in for one man; and then to 'scape 
drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life from' 



112 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

the edge of a feather bed, — here are simple 'scapes. 
Well, if Fortune be a woman, she's a good wench 
for this gear. — Father, come; I'll take my leave of 
the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 

Notwithstanding his scruples of conscience that 
caused him so much anxiety, when we first met 
him, Launcelot has not been entirely loyal to his 
master, and on leaving we find him secretly bear- 
ing a letter from Jessica, the Jew's daughter, to 
her young Christian lover, Lorenzo. The mis- 
sive requires a reply which Launcelot obtains ver- 
bally, and the cunning young rascal cleverly man- 
ages to convey it to the young Jewess, while bear- 
ing an invitation to her father, from his new mas- 
ter, Bassanio. His words are not brilliant, but 
serve to indicate his ingenuity. 

Mistress, look out at window, for all this; 
There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. 

Launcelot accompanies his new master to Bel- 
mont, where on our next meeting we find him 
comfortably installed; very much at home, and 
in a new livery. He is still bandying words with 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 113 

Jessica, who is now the wife of Lorenzo, and, in 
the absence of Portia, mistress of the house. 
His self-esteem seems to have grown in his new 
service, his vocabulary has increased, and he 
speaks with more authority, but with the same 
unfortunate propensity for punning. He is ob- 
viously favored by his "betters," and like many 
others of small mind takes advantage of that fact 
to speak with a freedom that is not entirely de- 
void of impudence. However, his humor atones 
for much, and his good-nature accomplishes the 
rest. 

The dialogue quoted (with some slight elim- 
inations) below takes place in the garden of Por- 
tia's house (Act 3, Scene 5). It is apparently 
the continuation of a discussion of the old theme 
of Jessica's parentage, and her father's sins; 
Launcelot taking a literal view of the scriptural 
precept in her case. 

Laun. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the 
father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I 
promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, 
and so now I speak my agitation of the matter ; there- 
fore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think thou art 



114 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

damned. There is but one hope in it that can do you 
any good. 

Jess. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that you are 
not the Jew's daughter. 

Jess. So the sins of my mother should be visited 
on me. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
father and mother; thus when I shun Scylla, your 
father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother; well, you 
are gone both ways. 

Jess. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath 
made me a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he; we were 
Christians enow before ; e'en as many as could well 
live, one by another. This making of Christians will 
raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to be pork- 
eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals 
for money. 

The entrance of Lorenzo puts an end to 
Launcelot's calamitous predictions, and that 
gentleman having little appreciation of the lat- 
ter's verbal fooling, directs him. "Go in, sirrah : 
bid them prepare for dinner." 

To which the irrepressible Launcelot replies: 
'That is done, sir; they have all stomachs." 

With some impatience, Lorenzo exclaims: 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 115 

"Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper art thou ! then 
bid them prepare dinner." 

This does not discourage the boy, who re- 
sponds: "That is done too, sir; only, cover is the 
word." 

Lorenzo, with some irritation, seeks to bring 
this equivocation to a close, and now gives his 
directions with emphasis: "I pray thee, under- 
stand a plain man in his plain meaning ; go to thy 
fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the 
meat, and we will come in to dinner." 

The imperturbable self-esteem and good-nature 
of Launcelot is proof, however, against censure or 
sarcasm; and with unruffled gravity he replies 
with humorous iteration: "For the table, sir, it 
shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be 
covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, 
let it be as humors and conceits shall govern." 

And having thus delivered himself, Launcelot 
makes a dignified exit from the scene. 

Lorenzo's apostrophe to Launcelot's discourse 
is an admirable summary of the shallow mind, 
that mistakes the mere jugglery of words for wit. 



ii6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

It was a favorite method of Shakespeare's to 
furnish humor in his "simples" and serving men, 
and proved an amusing diversion in their mouths : 
but, in others, it is the unconscious tribute that 
ignorance and incapacity pays to knowledge and 
distinction. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; and I do know 
A many fools that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. 

Launcelot makes one more brief appearance, to 
announce the early return of Bassanio to Bel- 
mont, and as a harbinger of glad tidings we leave 
him in the service of a noble master and a gra- 
cious mistress. 

The business of the Shakespearean clowns is 
traditional. It has been handed down by come- 
dians from generation to generation. It was 
familiar to every stage manager of experience, in 
the days of the resident stock company; and any 
departure from the conventional business of these 



p- • '■ 



.'';*«■-■■ ?:*- * " -I !^v-. *?. 




Charles Charters as "Launcelot Gobbo" in "The Merchant 
of Venice" 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 117 

parts was, until recently, viewed with disap- 
proval, and regarded as presumption. 

A most interesting and unique performance of 
Launcelot Gobbo was given some years ago by 
that sterling character actor, Mr. Robert Peyton 
Carter, so long associated with Miss Maude 
Adams. I was the Shylock of the performance to 
which I refer. Mr. Carter's Launcelot was not a 
boy, but a humorous and mischievous young man. 
At no time during the performance, even when 
trembling with fear before his master, was a smile 
absent from his face; with this result, the audience 
were smiling all the time Launcelot was in view. 
You knew, as you looked at him during his self- 
argument between duty and inclination, that his 
mind was already made up to run away, and that 
his conscientious scruples (if he really ever had 
any) were overcome before he uttered them. His 
practical jest with his father, when he misdirects 
him to the Jew's house, indicated that it was but 
a sample of the pranks the young man had playec/ 



ii8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

upon him all his life, and the bright twinkle in 
his eyes as his young mistress called him "a merry 
devil" connoted a thousand tricks that the young 
rascal had played during the term of his service in 
the Jew's house and robbed that somewhat dreary 
residence of its "taste of tediousness." 

Mr. Carter's business on the delivery of Jessica's 
letter to Lorenzo was original and good ; his exag- 
gerated obeisance to the several friends in company 
with that gentleman being particularly character- 
istic and happy. In the last act of the comedy, too 
frequently omitted in representation, Mr. Carter's 
appreciation of Shakespearean humor was mani- 
fest. The importance of his new employment, 
his vanity in his "rare new livery," and confidence 
of privileged service were delightfully presented, 
and rounded out a performance as notable as it 
was consistent and effective. 

"The Merchant of Venice" held an important 
place in the repertoire of the late Mr. Richard 
Mansfield. In discussing the various characters 
in the play with that distinguished gentleman, he 



LAUNCELOT GOBBO 119 

told me he considered the Launcelot Gobbo of Mr. 
A. G. Andrews, of his company, the best he had 
ever seen. It did not surprise me, for I knew Mr. 
Andrews to be a thorough and painstaking artist, 
studying out to the most minute detail every point 
of his make-up, costume and business. Mr. 
Andrews presented Launcelot as a boy to whom 
life was a very serious problem. His costume 
was extremely characteristic; his doublet and 
trunks were worn and patched, his hose seamed and 
darned, and his sandal-shoes with their leather 
straps had seen service hard and long. He made 
his first entrance from his master's house hastily, 
then looked round fearfully and, finding himself 
unobserved, sat down upon the door-step and 
seriously held self-communion as to the justice of 
leaving his master's service. In other respects he 
followed the traditional business of the part; 
but nothing was exaggerated, rather subdued; his 
object being to present Launcelot as a possible 
human being, and not an impossible clown, as 
many comedians have done. The humor of the 
part was always present, never intruded, but con- 



120 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

veycd naturally and without effort: the result 
being a well proportioned and artistic perform- 
ance. 



; CITIZEN 

IN 
JULIUS CiESAR 

THE tragedy of "Julius Csesar" is so exalted 
in theme, so heroic in sentiment and so noble 
in principle, that humor would scarcely be an ap- 
propriate factor in its composition. The magni- 
tude of manhood that the author has brought into 
such striking contrast and juxtaposition is so com- 
pletely sustained, and the elements of lofty patriot- 
ism and civic virtue are preserved so exclusively, 
that the lesser qualities and conditions of life are 
dwarfed into insignificance. 

The characters of Marcus Brutus, Cassius, Marc 
Antony, Caesar, Casca, Trebonius and the others, 
are cast in such "heroic mold," that they repre- 
sent "the highest heaven of invention," and like 
Chorus, in the prologue to "Henry V," we might 
well ask: 

121 



122 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

A kingdom for a stage, princes to act 
And monarchs to behold the swelHng scene! 

However, before the great personages in the 
drama make their appearance, Shakespeare has 
given us an illustration of the character of the 
Roman populace, and has introduced an episode 
that serves as a foundation for the later incidents, 
and at the same time furnishes an excellent exam- 
ple of broad comedy and wholesome humor. 

It is in the first scene of the play, which is 
simply described as "Rome. A Street." A num- 
ber of citizens are assembled; a typical crowd of 
mechanics, artisans, serving-men, and idlers, who 
are awaiting the advent of the procession to the 
ceremonies of the feast of the Lupercal. They 
are good-naturedly but somewhat boisterously 
jostling, and shouting, when they are interrupted 
by the approach of two of the tribunes. Flavins 
and MaruUus, who in turn silence, reprove and 
question them. 

The dialogue between the characters briefly in- 
forms us of the sumptuary laws of Rome at that 
period, and indicates the sentiments and relations 



CITIZEN IN JULIUS CESAR 123 

that existed between the patricians and the com- 
mon people. 

In the assemblage, two only of the citizens 
reply to the questions of the tribunes; they have 
no names in the list of characters, but are simply 
distinguished as "First" and "Second" citizens. 

The first citizen is an ordinary mechanic, dis- 
tinguished by no especial feature from the rest of 
the crowd; but the wit and humor of the second 
warrants some description. 

In many places that I have visited, I have found 
a local wit or jester. The community is usually 
very proud of him, and he is brought forward on 
all social occasions to sustain the reputation of the 
town for humor, and its appreciation. These al- 
leged wits vary in condition, but never in charac- 
teristic. They are usually fat, ruddy-faced and 
good-natured, with a stock of well-seasoned wit 
and fully matured stories which they exploit and 
relate much to their own satisfaction and the ad- 
miration of their local admirers, but not always 
to the enjoyment of the visitor. Whatever they 
say is supposed to be witty, and they are at all 



124 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

times ready for a verbal passage at arms with any 
one who has the temerity to challenge them. This 
type is not rare, but occasionally one meets a 
natural wit who is both mellow and keen. Such 
an one I imagine the individual to be who appears 
under the title of the "Second Citizen" in "Julius 
C^sar." 

The man is a cobbler by trade, and a wit by 
nature; his replies to the questions of the tribunes 
are respectful, but each of them is accompanied 
by a jest which in the presentation of the play is 
followed by a hearty laugh from his fellows, to 
indicate their appreciation, and his popularity 
with them. 

The scene, as I before observed, is brief and 
largely self-explanatory; I therefore give the text 
in full without further comment: 

Flavins. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you 

home. 
Is this a holiday? What! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
Of your profession? Speak, what trade 

art thou? 



CITIZEN IN JULIUS CESAR 125 

First Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
Marullus. Where is thy leather apron, and thy 
rule? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel 



on 



You, sir, what trade are you? 

Second Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 
man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 

Marullus. But what trade art thou? Answer me 
directly. 

Second Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use 
with a safe conscience ; which is indeed, sir, a mender 
of bad soles. 

Marullus. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
knave, what trade? 

Second Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out 
with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 

Marullus. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, 
thou saucy fellow? 

Second Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 

Second Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the 
awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor 
women's matters but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a 
surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, 
I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon 
neats-leather have gone upon my handiwork. 

Flavius. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the 
streets ? 



126 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Second Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to 
get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make 
holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. 

The cobbler's reply brings even a more severe 
reproof from the tribunes, but trumpets are heard 
in the distance, the procession is seen approaching, 
and the censures of the patricians are unheeded as 
the citizens disperse in the direction of the coming 
spectacle. 

An amusing incident occurred in a notable per- 
formance of "Julius Csesar" given some years ago 
in San Francisco. 

As a matter of interest I mention the cast of 
the principal characters, all of the actors having 
since passed away. 

Brutus Mr. Edwin Booth 

Cassius Mr. Barton Hill 

Marc Antony , . .Mr. John McCullough 
Julius C(£sar Mr. Henry Edwards 

All of these characters, with others, enter on the 
first scene in a procession returning from the games 
of the Lupercal, and are followed by a crowd of 



CITIZEN IN JULIUS C^SAR 127 

citizens. Csesar, impressed by an act of marked 
discourtesy on the part of the lean and hungry 
Cassius, calls Marc Antony to his side, and ex- 
claims : "Let me have men about me that are fat." 
Upon this, the two comedians playing the First 
and Second Citizens, Mr. C. B. Bishop and 
Mr. William Mestayer, both of very robust 
figures, and each turning the scales at 250 pounds 
at least, advanced, one on either side of Csesar, 
and placing their hands on their rotund and pro- 
truding stomachs, looked up at the great man 
as much as to say, "Well ! here is just what you 
want." 

Of course, this interpolation of business caused 
considerable amusement both for the audience and 
the actors, and completely destroyed the dignity 
of the scene; but both gentlemen were great per- 
sonal favorites with the public, and their little 
joke was tolerated by their indulgent friends as 
an evidence of their eccentricity, in spite of its 
absurd and inappropriate introduction. 

The two comedians have long since joined "the 
great majority," their exuberant humor is but a 



128 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

memory, but it is still affectionately cherished in 
the sphere in which they lived. 

The citizens appear on several occasions during 
the progress of the tragedy, notably, in the Senate 
scene at the assassination of Caesar, and later, in 
the market-place, where they are addressed in turn 
by Brutus and Marc Antony. Their lines are 
merely acquiescent to the sentiments of the prin- 
cipal characters; but there is one line that always 
struck me as humorous in the extreme. It occurs 
in Act 3, Scene 2, after the first part of Marc An- 
tony's address over the body of Csesar. Antony, 
apparently overcome by emotion, pauses in his 
eloquent argument in defense of his dead friend, 
when the First Citizen sagely remarks: "Me- 
thinks there is much reason in his sayings." To 
which our old friend, the Second Citizen replies: 
"If thou consider rightly of the matter, Csesar 
hath had great wrong." 

It is to this last speech that I refer. His ab- 
surdly inadequate expression of sympathy for the 
great man who has been so foully murdered, and 
whose body lies before him covered with wounds, 



CITIZEN IN JULIUS CAESAR 129 

always seemed to me to carry with it a sense of 
the ridiculous, that I could never completely over- 
come; although I am prepared to admit that, per 
se, it is not inappropriate to the limited intelli- 
gence of the speaker. 

There is a brief episode in the next scene of the 
same act in which the citizens again appear, that 
has a delightful touch of satirical humor. It oc- 
curs after the people have been aroused to venge- 
ance against the conspirators by the address of 
Marc Antony, and are seeking the assassins in 
the streets of the city. Among many suspicious 
persons accosted by the crowd is Cinna, the poet, 
who is seized and assailed by a perfect volley of 
questions from the excited multitude ; to which he 
replies : "What is my name? Whither am I go- 
ing? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man 
or a bachelor? Then to answer every man di- 
rectly, and briefly, wisely, and truly ; wisely I say, 
I am a bachelor." 

To this our ever-humorous friend the Second 
Citizen, who is one of the foremost in the crowd, 
and evidently a married man, responds in charac- 



130 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

teristic fashion : "That's as much as to say, they 
are fools that marry; you'll bear me a bang for 
that, I fear." 

Further questioning reveals the name of the 
captured man to be Cinna, which being also the 
name of one of the conspirators, for whom he is 
mistaken, the crowd cry: "Tear him to pieces, he 
is a conspirator I" 

The poor fellow, however, protests: "I am 
Cinna, the poet; I am Cinna, the poet." 

Cinna's poetry does not appear to be highly 
appreciated by the people, or he has unfortunately 
encountered an unsympathetic critic, for one of 
the citizens exclaims: "Tear him for his bad 
verses; tear him for his bad verses." 

Again the poet protests : "I am not Cinna, the 
conspirator." 

Whatever justice there may have been in the 
fate adjudged the poor poet by the enraged popu- 
lace, our ingenuous friend, the Second Citizen, is 
not without mercy, and he proposes: "It is no 
matter; his name's Cinna; pluck but his name out 
of his heart, and turn him going." 



CITIZEN IN JULIUS CiESAR 131 

Which suggests the significance of the trite old 
adage, "Save us from our friends." 

In a memorable production of "Julius Csesar," 
at Booth's Theater, New York, in the early seven- 
ties, a most excellent actor, Mr. Charles Leclerq, 
played the Second Citizen, and gave it an impor- 
tance and significance I had never before witnessed. 
Mr. Leclerq was tall and of spare figure; and his 
natural manner incisive rather than unctuous. 
His conceptions were the result of well-digested 
thought, and his performances rounded and com- 
plete. Surrounded by his homely fellows, and 
confident of their support, he was important but 
not intrusive, and impressed his audience with the 
characteristics I have endeavored to describe, so 
that, when one left the theater, in spite of the 
overwhelming predominance of the other charac- 
ters, Mr. Leclerq's performance of the homely old 
Roman cobbler lingered in the memory. 



THE CLOWN 

IN 

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

IN that most excellent work entitled "Studies in 
Shakespeare," by Richard Grant White, the 
author gives some sound advice to students and 
readers of the poet, which I most heartily indorse : 
"Don't skip small parts, such as servants, clowns, 
rustics, etc. ; read them all." 

This suggestion cannot be too emphatically im- 
pressed upon the minds of young readers, who, 
eager for the development of the plot or for the 
main points of the story, frequently neglect or 
omit the minor parts, deeming them non-essential 
to the interest of the play. This is to be deplored ; 
for Shakespeare has placed many of his best 
thoughts and most pointed epigrams in the mouths 
of comparatively unimportant characters; so that 
to pass over or neglect these passages is to lose 

132 



IN ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 133 

many beauties of thought, much philosophic re- 
flection, and a fund of characteristic humor. 

From the rich mine of his transcendent genius, 
the poet has drawn such a wealth of wit and wis- 
dom, that he has endowed the peasant as liberally 
as the prince, and the clown as the courtier; the 
flashes of brilliancy that sparkle in the repartee of 
the prince become bits of homely humor in the 
simple dialogue of the peasant, and the compli- 
ment of the courtier is bluntly expressed in the 
rugged honesty of the clown. The garb, becom- 
ing and appropriate, is fitted to the wearer; the 
doublet to the one, the smock to the other. 

In all of his rustic and humorous characters, 
Shakespeare has been most conservative of their 
possibilities; probably from the fact that prior to 
his time, and also during his early career on the 
stage, the clown monopolized the attention of the 
audience to the exclusion of the serious interest of 
the play, and was usually a most exaggerated cari- 
cature without sense or significance. 

Shakespeare felt this condition keenly and ex- 
pressed himself emphatically on the subject; espe- 



134 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

daily in the prince's instructions to the player in 
Hamlet (Act 3, Scene 2.) He set himself about 
to reform the evil, by keeping the clown and the 
comedian within the limits of "the modesty of 
nature." 

The brief sketch of the bucolic clown in "An- 
tony and Cleopatra" is distinctly Shakespearean 
in character, and it is to be regretted that he does 
not appear at greater length in the play. While 
the tragedy is located in Egypt, the clown is essen- 
tially English, and is a capital type of the country 
clodhopper, many of whom still survive in remote 
English villages to-day, and such as the poet saw 
daily at Stratford when a boy. 

This clown is a stockily-built, ruddy-faced man, 
with a shock head of hair, dressed in a homespun 
or coarse canvas smock, awkwardly stamping into 
the apartment, stolidly indifferent to conditions or 
environment, bent only on the execution of his 
commission, which is to bring "the pretty worm of 
Nilus, that kills and pains not," concealed in a 
basket of figs to some unknown lady. He is in- 



IN ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 135 

sensible to the significance of his errand, ignorant 
of its design, but honest in his warning as to the 
dangerous character of the worm; and what a 
powerful dramatic contrast is presented by the in- 
troduction of this dense, slow-witted fellow as an 
instrument to bring the means of death to the im- 
perious "Sorceress of the Nile," now a hopeless 
despairing woman; ''Tho' uncrowned, yet still a 
queen and daughter of a king." 

At first he is denied admission by the soldier 
guards, but he creates such a disturbance, and the 
contents of his basket appear to be so harmless, 
that on the queen's intervention, the clown is per- 
mitted to enter her presence. 

The fellow is ignorant of the exalted rank of 
his patron, and entirely lacking in reverence, for 
he pays the queen no deference, but gabbles on in* 
sensible of dismissal and oblivious to interruption 
till his tale is finished. 

Cleopatra asks: "Hast thou the pretty worm 
of Nilus there *?" To which he replies: "Truly 
I have him; but I would not be the party that 



136 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

should desire you to touch him, for his biting is 
immortal; those that do die of it do seldom or 
never recover." 

The perversion of language in the above is de- 
licious, and to my mind equal to anything that 
Dogberry says in "Much Ado About Nothing"; 
and is another example of Shakespeare's favorite 
method of expressing humor by the misuse of 
words by his clowns and fools. 

Ignoring the warning of the clown, the queen 
eagerly inquires: "Rememb'rest thou any that 
have died on't*?" To which the garrulous old 
fellow responds: "Very many, men and women, 
too. I heard of one of them no longer than yes- 
terday ; a very honest woman, but something given 
to lie, as a woman should not do but in the way 
of honesty; how she died of the biting of it, what 
pain she felt. Truly she makes a very good re- 
port of the worm; but he that will believe all that 
they say, shall never be saved by half that they 
do." 

The unconscious but direct reference to Cleo- 
patra herself in the above is passed without notice, 



IN ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 137 

or in the extremity of her grief, unperceived; and 
the clown is dismissed. 

But the fellow is not to be gotten rid of so 
easily ; he starts to go, but returns repeatedly with 
continued warnings as to the. dangerous character 
of the worm: "Look you, the worm is not to be 
trusted," and ''Give it nothing, I pray you, for it 
is not worth the feeding." 

To this last admonition, Cleopatra inquires: 
"Will it eat me*?" The clown takes this question 
as a reflection on himself, and replies with some 
emphasis: "You must not think I am so sim- 
ple, but I know the devil himself will not eat 
a woman; I know that a woman is a dish for the 
gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these 
same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in 
their women, for in every ten that they make, the 
devils mar five." And with the parting saluta- 
tion: "I wish you joy of the worm," the clown 
finally takes his departure. 

Ordinary students of Shakespeare must have 
noted that in spite of the fact that the poet has 



138 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

given us some of the noblest ideals of womanhood, 
there are passages in his plays of the keenest satire, 
and bitterest denunciation of women. 

How far his own unfortunate experience with 
the sex may have influenced his mind, it is not 
my purpose to discuss here ; but in the two passages 
spoken by the clown, that I have quoted above, I 
cannot but think there is an echo from the heart of 
the man, that as the poet sounds the key-note of 
an uncongenial marriage, an unappreciative mis- 
tress, and a friend's duplicity. 

It is interesting to note, that in the two great 
tragedies, "Julius Csesar" and "Antony and Cleo- 
patra," the only scenes of humor, in both instances 
equally brief, are placed, in the former at the be- 
ginning of the play, and in the latter almost at its 
conclusion. 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 

IN 

HAMLET 

"Has this fellow no feeling of his business^ that 
he sings at grave-tnaking ?" 

IT would scarcely seem possible that a grave- 
yard attached to a church, with a half-dug 
grave in the foreground, for the scene; midnight 
or near thereto, for the time ; a pickax, a spade, a 
heap of fresh earth, some human skulls and bones 
for the properties; and two grave-diggers for the 
dramatis personse would furnish a location and 
material for comedy and humor, yet in the first 
scene of the fifth act of the tragedy of "Hamlet,'' 
Shakespeare has taken these materials and con- 
ditions, and given us a series of incidents, a variety 
of character, and a dialogue replete with the most 
delightful comedy, brilliant repartee, ready wit 
and subtle humor. 

139 



140 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

The circumstances are these: A young lady 
attached to the court of the King of Denmark has 
been drowned. The general opinion being that 
she committed suicide. In the time of Shake- 
speare, and prior thereto, such unfortunates were 
denied Christian burial. Their remains were in- 
terred outside of consecrated ground without serv- 
ice or any of the rites of the Church. In fact, it 
was not unusual to bury them at the intersection 
of the highways, very deeply, and to drive a strong 
stake through the body. The object of this bar- 
barous proceeding being, to empale and destroy 
the evil spirit, which the prevailing superstition 
supposed to be in possession of the suicide. In the 
present instance, the King has commanded that 
the remains of the unfortunate lady should be 
buried in the consecrated ground of the church- 
yard. 

The King's command, violating all the ancient 
and accepted traditions of the church, arouses the 
indignation of the old sexton, who combines the 
office of grave-digger. To this personage Shake- 
speare has given such a strong individuality, such 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 141 

a pungency of wit and wealth of humor, together 
with such delightful touches of nature, making it 
so true to life, that I cannot but think the poet 
must have had a prototype in his own observation 
and experience. 

In the list of characters in the play this person- 
age and his assistant are set down as "Two 
Clowns as Grave-diggers," but modern editors 
have separated them in the cast, and called them 
"First and Second Grave-diggers." This method 
has been adopted in all the acting editions, and 
in the following observations I shall so designate 
them. 

The first grave-digger is of a type that may be 
found in many of our country villages to-day, — 
a quaint sententious old fellow "dressed in a little 
brief authority," and full of his own importance. 
He has a little knowledge of law, quotes one or 
two legal phrases in Latin incorrectly, and 
preaches a crude idea of socialism to his younger 
assistant, much to the awe and admiration of that 
simple individual, who addresses his acknowl- 
edged superior as "Goodman delver." 



142 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

I picture the old fellow in my mind as robust 
of figure, ruddy of feature, with distinct evidences 
of bibulous taste on his nose and cheeks, a humor- 
ous twinkle in his eyes, in spite of an assumed 
severity, dressed in the homely smock of the 
peasant of that pl^ce and period, and about fifty 
years of age. He has the courage of his con- 
victions for he has seldom found any one to com- 
bat them, so he advances his arguments with the 
authority of one whose dictum is not to be ques- 
tioned. Should these fail him, however, he can 
command the respect of his fellows by a ready 
tongue and homely wit, as exampled in his dia- 
logue with his subordinate, and later with Prince 
Hamlet. 

He is no respecter of persons : his replies to the 
questions of Hamlet being as straightforward and 
blunt as those to his peasant companion, while 
his replications in the exchange of wit with the 
former indicate so much irreverence and indepen- 
dence, that it draws from the Prince the signifi- 
cant observation: "By the Lord, Horatio, . . , 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 143 

the age is grown so picked that the toe of the 
peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he 
galls his kibe." 

The character of the old sexton bears in some 
small degree a resemblance to that of "Dogberry" 
in "Much Ado About Nothing," in its self-import- 
ance, but it is more consistent, less bombastic, and 
never servile. 

Our first acquaintance with the old fellow is 
made at the beginning of the first scene of the 
fifth act of the play, when he enters the church- 
yard followed by his assistant, who carries a spade 
and a mattock. That his mind is disturbed by 
the violation of ancient traditions is evidenced in 
his first speech given in the form of a question to 
his follower: "Is she to be buried in Christian 
burial that willfully seeks her own salvation?' 
To which his assistant, evidently a younger man, 
with the assurance of accurate information, re- 
plies: "I tell thee she is; and therefore make her 
grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her and 
finds it Christian burial." 



144 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Now comes the inherent love of argument in 
the old man: "How can that be, unless she 
drowned herself in her own defense?" 

The younger man has. no reply to this proposi- 
tion, but contents himself with reiteration: 
"Why, 'tis found so." To the ordinary peasant 
of the time this would have concluded the matter, 
but the sexton, who has small respect for the 
verdict of the crowner's quest, and perceiving an 
opportunity to expound his wisdom, proceeds with 
his argument. 

It requires little imagination to realize the pom- 
posity of the sturdy old stickler for tradition, as 
he emphasizes his points; or to note the syllabic 
orotundity with which he utters the Latin phrase 
that he has probably heard in some legal proceed- 
ings, and memorized for use at a future time, to 
awe his adversary with his learning; and to ob- 
serve the originality of his logic in the conclusion 
that the lady's death was not accidental. "It 
must be 'se offendendo'; it cannot be else. For 
here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, 
it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 145 

it is, to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she 
drowned herself wittingly." 

His assistant is not without some self-assertion 
in spite of Latin and logic, and makes a valiant 
attempt to enter a protest against the old man's 
prejudiced conclusions. ''Nay, but hear you, 
goodman delver." But the goodman will not be 
silenced with flattery nor does he propose to 
honor his youthful disputant with more contro- 
versy, but proceeds to demonstrate his theory in 
a practical fashion. Taking his spade he lays it 
down on the smooth turf of the church-yard, ex- 
plaining: "Here lies the water; good." Then 
at some little distance from the spade he stands 
the pick or mattock on end: ''Here stands the 
man, good," and taking a position between the two 
implements, with judicial gravity, he delivers 
himself as follows : "If the man go to this water 
and drown himself, it is will he, nill he, he goes ; 
mark you that; but if the water come to him and 
drown him, he drowns not himself : argal, he that 
is not guilty of his own death shortens not his 
own life." 



146 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

This demonstration almost convinces the rustic 
skeptic, but he is still in doubt as to the legal 
aspect of the case, and inquires: "But is this law?" 
"Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest law," concludes 
the old man. 

Finding no argument to combat this conclusion, 
the young fellow falls back on the elemental 
socialistic question of human inequality. "Will 
you ha' the truth on't*? If this had not been a 
gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' 
Christian burial." The old fellow fully indorses 
this proposition, and emphasizes it with a still 
more forcible example, though, perhaps some 
may not recognize the advantages of the special 
privileges quoted. "Why, there thou sayest: and 
the more pity that great folks should have coun- 
tenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, 
more than their even-Christian. Come, my 
spade." The old man takes his spade, but before 
proceeding to work, asserts the natural dignity of 
his trade, and bemoans the degeneracy of the age; 
which provokes the following bit of delightful 
equivoque : 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 147 

1st Gra. There is no ancient gentlemen but gar- 
deners, ditchers and grave-makers: they hold up 
Adam's profession. 

2nd Gra. Was he a gentleman? 

1st Gra. A' the first that ever bore arms. 

2nd Gra. Why, he had none. 

1st Gra. What, art a heathen? How dost thou 
understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam 
digged : Could he dig without arms ? 

After a hearty laugh at the jest, the old fellow 
propounds a conundrum, a very popular form of 
entertainment among simple country wits. How- 
ever, to realize the significance of the riddle and 
the preceding dialogue, it is essential to have the 
full picture in one's mind : the solemn background 
of the church, the grim environment of the old 
headstones and tombs, ghostlike in the midnight 
shadows, the newly made grave waiting for its 
tenant, the odor of the fresh earth, and the homely 
figures of the two sextons with the dismal tools 
of their trade, form a combination in strong con- 
trast with the humor of the dialogue, and yet in 
complete harmony with the spirit of the occasion. 
The old grave-digger standing with one foot on 
his spade, his eyes sparkling with humor, empha- 



148 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

sizes with his index finger the question that is to 
confuse the wits of his younger assistant; the 
other leaning on the mattock listens with parted 
lips, eager to catch every word, and match his wit 
against that of the veteran humorist. 

"What is he that builds stronger than either 
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter^" 

The young man is puzzled for a moment, 
scratches his head, then with a look of triumph, 
answers quickly: "The gallows-maker; for that 
frame outlives a thousand tenants." 

It is a good answer and the old fellow is not 
slow to acknowledge it, but it is not the correct 
one, so the momentary satisfaction of the young 
man is turned to chagrin, and his wits spurred to 
another effort. How the old fellow chuckles as 
the young one wrestles with the knotty problem, 
and how deliciously is the patronage of the old 
egotist's superior wisdom expressed in the passage 
that follows: "I like thy wit well, in good 
faith: The gallows does well: but how does it 
well ^ It does well to those that do ill : now thou 
dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 149 

the church : argal : the gallows may do well to thee. 
To't again, come." 

The young man repeats the proposition: "Who 
builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a 
carpenter^" and ruefully struggles to find another 
fitting reply. But his mental faculties are dull, 
it is beyond him, he has to confess it, and the old 
fellow does not spare him, but accentuates his 
triumph, and completes the poor fellow's humili- 
ation by giving the answer, and then dismissing 
him to fetch a stoop of liquor. 

"Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your 
dull ass will not mend his pace with beating, and 
when you are asked this question next, say *a 
grave-maker' : the houses that he makes last till 
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, fetch me a 
stoop of liquor." ^ 

The traditional business at this point was for 
the old grave-digger to remove with great delib- 
eration a number of vests or waist-coats of various 
colors and patterns, carefully fold and lay them 
at one side, and then roll up his sleeves before 
descending into the uncompleted grave to proceed 



150 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

with his work. This absurd piece of business has, 
however, long since been discarded, and the actor 
of to-day plays the part with more appro- 
priate action, consistent with the character, and 
within scope of human possibility. Laying his 
spade and pick by the side of the grave he 
gradually lowers himself into it with the natural 
effort of a man of his age, then in a work- 
man-like manner proceeds first to loosen the earth 
with his pick, then to throw it out, together with 
the skulls and bones as the dialogue calls for them, 
chanting the words of the old ballad at the proper 
cues, emphasizing the effort, and punctuating his 
singing with the strokes of his mattock, and the 
work of the spade. 

It is at this point that Prince Hamlet and his 
friend Horatio appear outside of the low wall 
that encloses the grave-yard. Seeing the old 
man's grim occupation, and hearing his humorous 
song, the incongruity of the proceeding surprises 
the Prince, who inquires of his friend : "Has this 
fellow no feeling of his business that he sings at 
grave-making*?" To which Horatio sagely re- 




Louis James as "Pepe" in "Francesco da Rimini' 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS iji 

plies: "Custom hath made it in him a property 
of easiness." 

Unconscious of observation, the sexton con- 
tinues his work and his song, throwing out the 
earth, some human bones, and two chapless skulls ; 
while the Prince and his friend look on and 
philosophize on the gruesome relics that are so 
irreverently handled by the old man. The sec- 
ond skull thrown from the grave is about to roll 
away, when the sexton strikes it sharply with his 
spade to imbed it in the soft, fresh earth. This 
apparent brutal indifference to the grim remains 
of poor mortality is the subject of further specula- 
tive philosophy on the part of the Prince, who 
finally steps over the wall, advances to the side 
of the grave, and addresses the grave-digger, ask- 
ing: "Who's grave's this, sirrah"?" 

I imagine the old man has been asked this 
question so frequently, and by all manner of peo- 
ple, that he has grown impatient at the query, and 
with scarcely a glance at his questioner he answers 
abruptly, "Mine, sir," and continues his work 
and his song. 



152 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

I recall when I was a very small boy, liv- 
ing in an English country village, an old cobbler, 
whose shop, or rather stall, was on the side of the 
street by which I went to school. He was a 
quaint, good-natured old fellow, and I would fre- 
quently stop, watch him at work and talk to him. 
All of his work was done by hand. He used 
to sit at the end of a low bench on which 
were all of his materials and tools, in little 
square compartments. He wore a large pair of 
spectacles with horn frames, and would bend 
over a wooden last, held fast to his knee by a 
circular leathern strap from his foot, make holes 
with an awl, insert and draw the wax end tightly, 
as he attached the upper to the sole of the shoe 
he was making. I used to regard him with great 
interest, and wonder at his dexterity and rapidity. 
I knew practically everybody in the village, and 
with boyish curiosity would ask the old cobbler 
who the shoes were for. He would invariably 
reply: "Mr. Wearem." This puzzled me for 
some time, as I knew no one of that name; but 
ultimately I comprehended: it was a reproof to 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 153 

my curiosity, the old man's standing jest, and a 
whimsical evasion of the question he was asked 
so frequently. I find a parallel in my old cob- 
bler's jest and the grave-digger's reply to Ham- 
let. 

The Prince, however, is not disposed to be 
silenced by this discourtesy, but makes a rejoinder 
that bluntly charges the old man with a lie. 
Against this accusation the grave-digger stoutly 
defends himself, and makes countercharge with a 
shrewd wit in a dialogue replete with ingenious 
punning, and a crude logic that carries his point, 
and compels recognition from the Prince, who 
diplomatically changes the subject. 

To facilitate the reader's appreciation, I quote 
the dialogue that follows the grave-digger's reply : 

Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't. 

Gra. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not 
yours : for my part, I do not lie in't and yet, it is mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and to say it is 
thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick: therefore 
thou liest. 

Gra. 'Tis a quick lie, sir, 'twill away again from 
me to you. 



154 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 
Gra. For no man, sir. ^ 

Ham. What woman then? 
Gra. For none neither. 
Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 
Gra. One that was a woman sir, but, rest her soul, 
she's dead. 



Ham. How long hast thou been a grave-maker? 

The answer is given with characteristic loquac- 
ity, by the old man, who still maintains his repu- 
tation as a wit-snapper. 

The most casual reader of Shakespeare cannot 
but observe how much is connoted as well as 
expressed in many of the brief passages of the 
poet. In answer to the above simple question, 
the valor of the late King, and the martial char- 
acter of the Danes is suggested; we are told the 
day of Hamlet's birth; we learn of the gossip of 
the people and the general impression of the 
Prince's mental condition, the supposed reason of 
his despatch to England, together with some satir- 
ical allusions to the people of that country; and, 
while the old man ingeniously reveals the age of 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 155 

Hamlet, he incidentally suggests his own. 'T 
have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty 
years." 

This, granting he was about twenty years old 
when he began his work as a grave-maker, and it 
is improbable to suppose that he would be en- 
trusted with such serious work at an earlier age, 
would make him fifty at this time, as I have be- 
fore suggested. 

Hamlet's next question: "How long will a 
man lie in the earth ere he rot*?" provokes more 
punning by the old man and some very plain and 
original reasoning as to the time and process of 
the decay of mortal remains ; those of a tanner in 
particular. 

The dialogue is terminated by the selection of 
one of the skulls by the grave-digger to illustrate 
his arguments, which the old man asserts is the 
skull of Yorick, the late King's jester. 

The "property of easiness," suggested by Ho- 
ratio, is again exampled by the irreverence and 
familiarity with which the grave-maker handles 
this skull. As he recalls the pranks of the dead 



156 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

jester, he laughingly slaps the hollow temples of 
the unconscious remnant, as if he were boxing the 
ears of the living jester, and gleefully chuckles 
as memory revives the "mad rogue's" wit and 
humor, before handing it to the Prince. 

This incident diverts the mind of Hamlet from 
his catechism of the grave-digger to tender mem- 
ories of his childhood's friend and playmate, so 
that the sentiment of the scene is changed, but 
to this I have referred at some length in a former 
chapter. 

The funeral procession enters the church-yard, 
the sexton assists in lowering the body of the un- 
fortunate lady to its last resting place, and with 
that duty done, the character of the grave-digger 
in the play is concluded. But if we permit our 
imagination a little scope, we might see, after the 
funeral party has left the scene, the old fellow 
shoveling the earth back into the newly-tenanted 
grave, and hear the refrain of his quaint song 
borne upon the stillness of the early morning air: 

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 
For and a shrouding sheet: 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 157 

O a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

The most conspicuous figure that I can recall 
as a representative of the first grave-digger, was 
the late J. H. McVicker, founder and proprietor 
of McVicker's Theater, Chicago. He played the 
part when en tour with Edwin Booth, his son-in- 
law, who was then under his management. I 
had the honor of being Mr. Booth's principal sup- 
port, and played the part of Laertes. Mr. Mc- 
Vicker was of Irish and Scotch descent, and com- 
bined the general characteristics of those two na- 
tionalities. He was strong in his own opinions, 
somewhat harsh and dictatorial in his manner, 
but with a vein of quaint humor that was much 
in evidence when not obsessed with business. 
Hardly the temperament for an artist, you would 
say*? True! but in the case of the old sexton 
these very qualities fitted the character. Mr. Mc- 
Vicker used little if any make-up, in fact he did 
not need any; he was at this time, I should judge, 
about sixty years of age, rotund of figure, full in 
the face, which was clean-shaven, and with sparse 



158 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

gray hair, that was always disheveled. He 
dressed the part in a dark brown tunic or smock; 
his arms were bare, but his legs and feet were 
encased in rough buskins and sandals. He 
looked the part to perfection; he did not have to 
act, only to speak the lines, and he was the old 
grave-digger. The self-importance, the grave as- 
sumption of knowledge, and the air of "brief 
authority" over his fellow- worker were finely 
given ; while his surprised expression at the audac- 
ity of the younger man in questioning his judg- 
ment was a splendid illustration of the assurance 
of ignorance and self-conceit. 

At the time of which I speak (1876) very 
little, if any, scenery and few properties were 
carried by touring dramatic companies. We car- 
ried none, but depended on the stock of the 
theaters we visited for the scenery, and borrowed 
the properties and furniture from local stores, giv- 
ing in return complimentary tickets to the per- 
formance. The two human skulls were espe- 
cially difficult to obtain in the smaller towns. 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 159 

Our property-man, however, was of considerable 
experience and full of resource in an emergency 
and when unable to obtain the real article invari- 
ably found a substitute that served the purpose. 
For the skulls he used two large turnips, shaping 
them like the human head, excavating the eye 
sockets, hollowing the jaws and mouth, and then 
coloring them with brown paint. Indeed, they 
looked remarkably well and few of the audience 
could detect the imposition from the front of the 
theater. One night, however, when Mr. Mc- 
Vicker, as the grave-digger, handed the supposed 
skull to Mr. Booth, as Hamlet, the latter gentle- 
man failed to grasp it securely and it fell with a 
heavy thud to the stage. The deception was then 
obvious, and the audience roared with laughter. 
But worse consequences followed. The con- 
founded turnip rolled down to the footlights, 
knocked off one of the tips of the gas jets (elec- 
tricity was not then in use), a big flame rose from 
the broken jet, a cry of Fire! was raised, and a 
panic in the audience was only averted by the 



i6o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

prompt action of the leader of the orchestra, who 
reached over and smothered the flaming gas-jet 
with his pocket handkerchief. 

On another occasion during our Southern tour, 
Mr. McVicker called me on one side prior to the 
beginning of the last act of Hamlet, and whis- 
pered in my ear, "Watch me when I hand Edwin 
the skull to-night." I watched. 

It appeared that our property-man had been 
unable to obtain even turnips with which to 
fashion skulls for the grave-yard scene, so he had 
procured a couple of very large Bermuda onions, 
cut and perforated them as he had done the, 
turnips, colored, and placed them in the grave: 
Mr. McVicker alone being cognizant of the char- 
acter of the remains. The grave-digger threw 
them out at the proper cue, and the deception 
passed unnoticed, but, when the old sexton handed 
the supposed skull of poor dead Yorick to Mr. 
Booth, who had a particular aversion to onions in 
any form, the aroma of that mutilated sphere, 
mingled with the odor of the paint, became so 
offensive to him that he was seized with nausea, 



THE GRAVE-DIGGERS 161 

and with difficulty completed the delivery of his 
tender apostrophe to the remains of his dead 
friend. However, his final questions to Horatio, 
as he handed, with unusual alacrity the repulsive 
vegetable to that gentleman: "Dost thou think 
Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the earth'? 
And smelt so*? pah I" had a significance that here- 
tofore had not been in evidence. Subsequently 
Mr. Booth joined in a hearty laugh at the inci- 
dent, and shortly afterwards two human skulls 
were purchased for the performance. 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 

IN 

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 

THERE seems to be little doubt but that the 
comedy of ''The Two Gentlemen of Ve- 
rona" was one of the earliest of the poet's dra- 
matic works. There is no authentic record of its 
first presentation, but it is the general impression 
among the commentators that it occurred in 1591 
or 1592. Sidney Lee, probably the most ac- 
curate and reliable authority on Shakespeareana, 
places it second in order of production. It was 
not printed in the author's lifetime, nor was it pub- 
lished till it was included in the First Folio edition 
of collected plays that appeared in 1623, seven 
years after the poet's death. 

There is a crude conventionality in the con- 
struction of the plot, inexperience in the develop- 

162 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 163 

ment of the characters, and immaturity in its de- 
ductive philosophy. These conditions confirm 
the view-point taken above, and are entirely con- 
sistent with the known facts. Shakespeare was 
at this time but twenty-seven years of age, had 
been in London but six or seven years, and though 
study and observation had given him some idea 
of dramatic composition, it was on conventional 
lines only; experience had not yet developed 
his powers or given him any marked individ- 
uality. 

Mrs. Cowden Clarke goes so far as to suggest 
that the comedy was probably one of the MSS. 
that Shakespeare took with him to London. 
This is disproved, I think, by his references in the 
play to historical and mythological characters, 
with which he would hardly be familiar before his 
advent into the metropolis. 

I doubt if Shakespeare did any literary work 
of a dramatic character before he went to Lon- 
don. It was his association with a company of 
professional actors, in a varied repertory of plays, 
with the environment of a regularly equipped 



i64 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

theater, that revealed to him the possibilities of 
the drama, inspired his ambition, and developed 
his genius. 

There is no originality in the story of "The 
Two Gentlemen of Verona," nor in any of the 
incidents of the comedy. The characters are but 
prototypes of those which appear, elaborated and 
completed, in his later plays, after experience had 
matured his powers and given him a deeper in- 
sight into human nature. 

This is particularly true of Launce and Speed, 
the two clownish servants in the comedy, who are 
reproduced as the two Dromios, in "The Comedy 
of Errors"; as Peter, in "Romeo and Juliet," and 
as Launcelot Gobbo, in "The Merchant of Ven- 
ice"; but with far more consistency of purpose 
and detail of character. 

Launce and Speed are servants: born to serve, 
contented to serve, with little or no ambition be- 
yond it. They are personal attendants on Val- 
entine and Proteus, two young noblemen, and 
accompany their respective masters on their 
travels, obeying their orders without question, 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 165 

accepting their wages with satisfaction, and sub- 
mitting upon occasion to personal chastisement 
without resentment. 

They are young, full of humor, and fond of 
mischief. Their humor they exercise upon their 
masters, when they can do so with safety, and 
indulge in their mischief between themselves. 
Both are shrewd and keenly observant, particu- 
larly of the foibles and weaknesses of their 
masters. 

Speed is at times exuberant; Launce, who is 
apparently the elder, is more thoughtful and sen- 
tentious, and with the egotism of a little learn- 
ing patronizes and reproves the youth and 
ignorance of his comrade. Launce has some 
sentimentality in his nature which is shown in his 
affection for his dog. Crab, and his grief (not 
wholly unaffected) at the parting from his fam- 
ily. Launce does not, however, permit that 
sentimentality to affect his material interests at 
any time, or even influence his considerations in 
the selection of a wife. 

Both have the punning habit to an abnormal 



i66 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

degree, and vie with each other in amphibolous 
repartee. 

Of the two, Launce has the keener wit and 
deeper philosophy. He is also more resourceful 
when occasion demands; witness, his prompt ac- 
ceptance of the punishment that had been im- 
posed on his "ungentlemanlike" dog. Crab, which 
would have ended the career of that canine; and 
the substitution of the same ill-bred cur for the 
"little jewel" he was commissioned to carry to 
Mistress Sylvia, which had been stolen from him 
by the boys in the market-place. 

Speed is the first of these two worthies to ap- 
pear in the play. It is in the first scene of the 
first act, and in his second speech he begins a cor- 
ruption of words in a succession of the most 
atrocious puns and ingenious transliterations, that 
positively appall by their audacity: and he con- 
tinues it throughout the scene. The play on the 
words. Ship and sheep, pound and pinfold, and 
the evolution from a nod of the head, and the 
exclamation "ay" to the word "Noddy," fully 
justifies the term Proteus applies to it, "silly." 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 167 

In fact, there is but one bit of repartee in the 
entire dialogue worthy of note: Proteus ex- 
claims with obvious sarcasm: "Beshrew me, but 
you have a quick wit," to which Speed, who has 
been unable to extract a gratuity from him, re- 
plies: "And yet it cannot overtake your slow 
purse." 

The dialogue in Act 2, Scene 1, between Speed 
and Sir Valentine, is in the same vein as in the 
first act; but Speed seems to have some advantage 
in it, for travel appears to have sharpened the wit 
of the servant, while love has dulled the spirit of 
the master. In Speed there is evidence of more 
observation both of incidents and circumstances; 
a clearer and brighter expression of ideas, com- 
bined with a shrewdness that approaches wisdom, 
— especially in his reflections on Sir Valentine's 
love-lorn condition; while there is a dimness of 
cpmprehension that amounts almost to density in 
the lack of understanding displayed by his master. 
Speed's critical philosophy, however, never per- 
mits him to lose sight of the demands of his 
stomach, or the perquisites of his position. 



i68 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

This scene is so admirable in its commingling of 
humor and satire, that I quote it at length: 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? 

Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you 
have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, 
like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, Hke a robin- 
redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pes- 
tilence; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his 
A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried 
her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to 
watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, 
like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when 
you laugh'd, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to 
walk like one of the lions ; when you fasted, it was 
presently after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was 
for want of money; and now you are metamorphosed 
with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly 
think you are my master. 

VaL Are all these things perceived in me? 

Speed. They are all perceived without ye. . . . 
These follies are within you, and shine through you 
like the water . . . that not an eye that sees you, but 
is a physician to comment on your malady. 

Later, in the same scene the dialogue is note- 
worthy, and again illustrates the shrewd observ- 
ance of Speed, and the privilege of speech per- 
mitted him by his master. 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 169 

Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. 

Val. How long hath she been deform'd? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and 
still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val Why? 

Speed. Because Love is blind. O ! that you had 
mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were 
wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for go- 
ing ungartered! 

Val. What should I see then? 

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
deformity ; for he, being in love, could not see to gar- 
ter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put 
on your hose. 

Sir Valentine, probably realizing the truth of 
Speed's remarks, and finding no adequate reply, 
attempts a reproof, which, however, does not 
feaze his irrepressible follower: 

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I 
thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes 
me the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Mistress Sylvia, the lady of Sir Valentine's 
love, now comes upon the scene, and Speed is a 



170 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

most attentive observer and listener to the inter- 
view between the lover and the lady. Sylvia has 
apparently commissioned Sir Valentine to write 
some appropriate lines for her to ''one she loves," 
a "secret nameless friend." Sir Valentine, hav- 
ing written the lines, in the form of a letter, now 
delivers it to the lady, who thereupon returns it 
to the writer, pointedly exclaiming: "They are 
for you." Sir Valentine, however, does not ap- 
preciate her meaning, looks bewildered and stands 
in great perplexity ; and the lady, disappointed at 
his lack of comprehension, abruptly takes her 
leave with considerable show of anger. Sir Valen- 
tine stands in speechless astonishment, but Speed, 
who has realized the full significance of the lady's 
device, exclaims: 

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 

As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 

steeple ! 
My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
O excellent device! was there ever heard a better. 
That my master being scribe, to himself should write 

the letter. 




James Lewis and Sidney Herbert as "Launce" and "Speed' 
in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 171 

Sir Valentine, still oblivious to the lady's de- 
sign, and Speed's meaning, declares: 

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? 
Speed. What need she when she hath made you 
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the 
jest? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and 
there an end. 

Val. I would it were no worse! 
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 

For often have you writ to her, and she, in 

modesty. 
Or else for want of idle time, could not 

again reply; 
Or fearing else some messenger, that 

might her mind discover. 
Herself hath taught her love himself to 
write unto her lover. 

Sir Valentine is still perplexed, he cannot see 
the jest, so Speed, seeing it impossible to make 
the matter clear, suggests: " 'Tis dinner time." 
Sir Valentine replies: "I have dined," but 
Speed requires a more substantial diet than love, 
and concludes the scene with the following most 



172 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

earnestly delivered protest: "Ay, but hearken, 
sir: Though the chameleon Love can feed on 
air, I am one that am nourish' d by my victuals, 
and would fain have meat. O I be not like your 
mistress : be moved, be moved." 

Launce does not appear till the third scene of 
the second act, when he introduces himself, his 
sentiments, and his dog Crab, by whom he is ac- 
companied, with much humor and, as with all of 
Shakespeare's characters, his mental, sentimental 
and social status is at once established; while the 
domestic drama played with a pair of old shoes, 
a hat, and a staff as representatives of the family 
of the Launces, gives us an introduction to them 
as effectively as if we had met them all in person. 
One can easily understand that Crab's failure to 
appreciate the importance of the journey, and the 
pathos of parting with such a family is a source 
of great disappointment to his master. The epi- 
sode is described with so much delightful original- 
ity of expression and humorous detail, that the 
reader must be dull indeed who cannot see the 
scene enacted before his eyes : the weeping women, 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 173 

the wailing father, the howling maid, and the 
"perplexed" household; while the dog, unmoved, 
stolidly watches the entire proceedings with a 
bored expression of canine indifference. 

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping: 
all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I 
have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, 
and am going with Sir Proteus to the imperial's court. 
I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that 
lives : my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sis- 
ter crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her 
hands, and all our house in great perplexity, yet did 
not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear : he is a stone, 
a very pebble-stone, and has no more pity in him than 
a dog : a Jew would have wept to have seen our part- 
ing : why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept 
herself blind at my parting. Nay, FU show you the 
manner of it: This shoe is my father; — no, this left 
shoe is my father ; no, no, this left shoe is my mother : 
— that cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so; it 
hath the worser sole. This shoe with a hole in it, 
is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't: 
there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look 
you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand : 
this hat is Nan, our maid ; I am the dog : — no, the dog 
is himself, and I am the dog, — O, the dog is me, and 
I am myself ; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father ; 
Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak 



174 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

a word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; 
well, he weeps on: — now come I to my mother, (Q, 
that she could speak now, like a wood woman.) — 
well, I kiss her; why, there't is; here's my mother's 
breath up and down; now come I to my sister; mark 
the moan she makes : now the dog all this while sheds 
not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the 
dust with my tears. 

The misuse of the words "prodigious" and 
"perplexity" has a most familiar sound, and may 
be readily recognized as a favorite comedy device 
of the poet, to provide humor for his clowns and 
serving-men. 

In an interesting work by Dr. A. O. Kellogg, 
of the State Lunatic Asylum, at Utica, New York, 
entitled "Shakespeare's Delineations of Insanity, 
Imbecility, and Suicide," that distinguished alien- 
ist places Launce among the imbeciles, and by 
way of preface to an able analysis of the char- 
acter, in which is included Crab, the constant com- 
panion of the boy, he makes the following con- 
crete summary: 

Another shade of mental obtuseness and imbecility 
has been exhibited by the poet in the character of 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 175 

Launce, the clown par excellence, in "The Two Gen- 
tlemen of Verona." Launce is not a character manu- 
factured by the playwright, one of "Nature's journey- 
men," to serve a particular purpose, but is a product 
of Nature's own handiwork, and if not the most cun- 
ning, still none the less genuine. 

The close companionship which exists between him 
and his interesting dog. Crab, is evidently one based 
upon a moral and intellectual fitness in the characters 
of the two. The clown is such by natural organiza- 
tion, and no education or change of circumstances or 
condition could make him otherwise. So the dog 
Crab, is . . . the cur that nature made him; and we 
can scarcely conceive that even the cultivation of 
three generations . . . would suffice to make either a 
courtier of the one, or "a gentleman-like dog" of the 
other. . . . The spirits of the two are so "married in 
conjunction" by mutual intercourse, that the one has 
come to conduct himself in all companies, as a currish 
clown, and the other as a clownish cur. 

As I have stated in the preface, I do not pre- 
sume to differentiate between folly and imbecil- 
ity. I quote the foregoing as the indorsement of 
a scientist to the accuracy of the poet's conception 
and treatment of the character. 

In reference to the habit of punning, which is 
one of the characteristics of Launce, to which I 



176 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

have before alluded in this article, as well as to 
the same practice by similar characters in previous 
chapters, I again quote Dr. Kellogg: 

His humorous punning and play upon words is also 
quite characteristic, and shows that this faculty may 
be possessed in quite an eminent degree by those of 
very inferior mental caliber, like Launce." 

How completely Shakespeare realized this con-» 
dition is evidenced, not only by the countrymen 
and clowns in his comedies, but also by the char- 
acters of inferior rank and humble station in his 
tragedies: notably, Peter, in ''Romeo and Juliet"; 
the Citizens, in "Julius Csesar" ; the Grave-diggers, 
in "Hamlet"; and the drunker Porter, in "Mac- 
beth." 

"The Two Gentlemen of Verona" is unfortu- 
nately seldom presented on the stage, but Mr. 
Augustin Daly made a production of the comedy 
in his series of Shakespearean revivals at Daly's 
Theater, New York, some years ago. Mr. 
James Lewis played Launce, and while I cannot 
recall the entire performance in detail, I distinctly 
remember his first appearance on the scene. He 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 177 

came upon the stage slowly, with an expression 
of extreme disgust on his face, leading his dog 
Crab by a cord. The property man who had 
procured the dog for the production had been 
most fortunate in his selection, for a more com- 
plete specimen of a "low-down cur" I never saw. 
It would have puzzled the most experienced dog 
fancier to name his breed or trace his ancestry. 
Most animals, when they appear upon the stage, 
become frightened by the glare of the footlights, 
and startled by any applause that may come from 
the audience, but this dog that played Crab was 
absolutely oblivious to his surroundings. Crab 
received even a more cordial greeting than his 
popular master, but while the latter acknowledged 
the compliment gracefully, the dog looked on with 
complete indifference as if the entire proceedings 
bored him. Launce began his first speech, which 
included a mild reproach of Crab's lack of sym- 
pathy, but it made no impression on the cur: he 
then led the dog to the base of a statue, or foun- 
tain on the scene, seated himself on the steps, 
the cur by his side, and enacted the domestic scene 



178 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

described in the text with a droll humor that the 
audience found irresistible, but it had no effect 
on Crab, who sat upon his haunches, looked at 
Mr. Lewis' manipulation of the shoes, and lis- 
tened to his detailed description of the parting of 
the family of the Launces as if, like Baron Grog, 
in "The Grand Duchess," he had always been 
taught "to observe an impassive countenance." 

I regret that I cannot remember more of the 
performance of Mr. Lewis, for everything he did 
was worthy of memory: but the picture of the 
dog. Crab, is indelibly impressed on my mind, and 
the memory of that frowsy cur that was such an 
appropriate companion to his master, tempts me 
again to quote Dr. Kellogg: 

Next to the human associates whom a man takes 
into his confidence, nothing seems to furnish a more 
correct index to his character than the species of the 
canine race which he selects as his companions. The 
grim-looking, fighting bulldog is found at the heels 
of the bully and prize-fighter. The dignified mastifif 
and gentlemanly Newfoundland, guard . . . the 
stately banker. The gaunt hound is found in the train 
of the active, vigorous, fox-hunting squire. The 
poodle or spaniel ... is the combed, washed, and 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 179 

petted companion of my lady, but the cur, who seems 
to be a combination of the evil qualities of all these, 
your "yaller dog," is found at the heels of the clown, 
and the nature of the relationship is nowhere so ad- 
mirably depicted as by the poet in his delineations of 
Launce and his dog Crab. 

The play upon the words "tide" and "tied" 
in the brief dialogue with Panthino, that con- 
cludes the scene is another capital illustration of 
the quality of wit possessed by Launce. It is 
amusing, harmless and characteristic. 

Pan. You'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for 
it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 
Pan. What's the unkindest tide? 
Launce. Why, he that's tied here. Crab, my dog. 

Scene 5, of Act 2, is entirely occupied by a dia- 
logue between Launce and Speed. The scene 
does not advance the plot or develop the char- 
acters, but is marked by the same quality of wit 
to which I have before referred; a brief example 
of which will suffice. 

Speed. I understand thee not. 
Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst 
not. My staff understands me. 



i8o THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Speed. What thou sayest? 

Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll but 
lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all 
one. 

In the first scene of act third a new phase of 
the character of Launce is developed. He is in 
love. We have his own admission of the fact, 
with the addenda: "But a team of horse shall 
not pluck that from me; not who 'tis I love, and 
yet 'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell 
myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid." Launce does 
not give us his reasons for the secrecy that he so 
ingeniously negatives, and we might attribute it 
to the bashful modesty of a lover, but this is again 
negatived by his subsequent interview with 
Speed. The name of the lady is withheld, but 
we are frankly informed of "The cate-log of her 
conditions." Launce is a man of method and has 
carefully collated both the virtues and vices of the 
lady, and set them down in a sort of debtor and 
creditor arrangement, which he not only carefully 
considers himself, but on a convenient opportu- 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 181 

nity submits to the judgment of his friend Speed, 
reserving, however, the privilege of making the 
final decision himself. 

The merits of the lady are set down somewhat 
as follows : 

She can fetch and carry. 

She can milk. 

She brews good ale. 

She can sew. 

She can knit. 

She can wash and scour. 

She can spin. 

She hath many nameless virtues. 

And her demerits : 

She is not to be kissed fasting. 
She hath a sweet mouth. 
She doth talk in her sleep. 
She is slow in words. 
She is proud. 
She hath no teeth. 
She is curst. 

She will often praise her liquor. 
She is liberal. 

She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than 
hairs, and more wealth than faults. 



i82 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

One can easily imagine the sapient and judicial 
air assumed by Launce, as Speed reads the "cate- 
log" to him; but I shrewdly suspect that the deci- 
sion of the judge had been made before the trial 
began, or the evidence was presented. The 
virtues he appreciates at their practical value, 
the vices he ingeniously transforms into virtues, 
and like many in real life of far greater social 
and intellectual pretensions, finally permits the 
possession of money to be the deciding factor 
in his choice. With Launce, wealth appears 
to have been a cloak whose ample folds are 
sufficient to cover a multitude of vices, for 
though she have "more faults than hairs" her 
wealth was all powerful "to make the faults 
gracious." I am very much inclined, however, 
to think that the affectation of prudence was an- 
other of the practical jests of this exuberant youth 
with his friend Speed; that he himself concocted 
the "cate-log," and the entire matter had its exist- 
ence only in the vivid and picturesque imagina- 
tion of our friend Launce; for later we learn that 
the boy has voluntarily taken upon himself both 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 183 

the blame and the punishment for the sins of his 
dog Crab. He hath "sat in the stocks for pud- 
dings he hath stolen"; "stood in the pillory 
for geese he hath killed"; and taken a whipping 
to save that ill-bred cur from the consequences of 
his "ungentleman-like conduct" at the Duke's 
table. Now it is but reasonable to assume that 
a man, however humble his station in life, who 
would sacrifice himself so completely for the sake 
of a dumb animal, would have some sentimental- 
ity in the choice of a wife, and however merce- 
nary he might assume to be, his selection would 
not be influenced by wealth alone, but be governed 
by the feelings of his heart, rather than by the 
calculations of his head. 

Be that as it may, there is a good deal of sound 
common sense, even if it was assumed, in the 
method of selecting a wife as affected by Launce, 
that might be adopted with advantage by some 
of our modern young men who so heedlessly as- 
sume the responsibilities of marriage. A little 
more prudence and consideration of their respec- 
tive qualifications for what should be a life-long 



i84 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

union, might avert many an unhappy marriage, 
and considerably diminish the congestion in our 
courts of law. 

The brief dialogue concluding the scene bears 
out the above suggestion. Speed, whose name by 
the way appears to be a misnomer, is waited for 
by his master at the north gate of the city. 
Launce knows this, and out of sheer mischief, as 
he inferentially admits, is detaining him. This 
would seem to indicate that the milkmaid with 
her "cate-log of conditions" is pure imagination 
on the part of Launce, and his apparent inde- 
cision a mere device to detain the already dilatory 
Speed. The solo and exit speech of Launce on 
the hasty departure of Speed, accentuates the 
view: "Now will he be swing'd for reading my 
letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust 
himself into secrets. I'll after, to rejoice in the 
boy's correction." 

Scene 4 of Act 4 in the comedy brings the char- 
actor of Launce to its conclusion. Crab seems 
to be as incorrigible as impenitent, and Launce 
entertains us with a most diverting account of the 



LAUNCE AND SPEED 185 

dog's misdeeds and his own self-sacrifice in the 
cur's behalf. To appreciate thoroughly the 
humor of the scene, I commend the reader to a 
full perusal of the same in the play itself. 

By the irony of fate, Crab seems to be the fac- 
tor in his master's undoing. Launce has been 
commissioned by his master, Sir Proteus, to de- 
liver "a little jewel" of a dog to Mistress Sylvia 
as a present. Launce loses the little jewel, and 
in this dilemma substitutes his own dog Crab. 
The lady indignantly rejects such a present, and 
returns a most sarcastic response to the advances 
of the amorous Sir Proteus, whose anger on learn- 
ing the details of the adventure may be better 
imagined than described. 

The explanation of Launce is characteristic of 
the boy, while his humor, love of mischief, and 
his "old vice" of punning is sustained to the last. 

Pro. Where have you been these two days loiter- 
ing? 

Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sylvia the 
dog you bade me. 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 

Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur, and 



i86 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
present. 

Pro. But she received my dog? 

Launce. No, indeed, did she not: here have I 
brought him back again. 

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? 

Launce. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen 
from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place: 
and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big 
as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Poor Launce narrowly escapes the whip at the 
hands of his outraged master, and is angrily dis- 
missed from his presence. The future of the boy 
is left to our conjecture. Did he lose his place*? 
Did his master restore him to favor *? and did he 
wed the lady whose qualifications were the source 
of so much careful calculation*? The author 
does not tell us. Let us, however, express the 
hope that an indulgent master forgave the ex- 
uberant humor of his youthful servant, and per- 
mitted Launce and his dog Crab, with possibly 
the lady Launce has chosen, to share in his own 
felicity so completely expressed in the concluding 
lines of the comedy, ''One feast, one house, one 
mutual happiness." 



THE FOOL 

IN 
KING LEAR 

"Poor fool and knave^ I have one part in my heart 
Thafs sorry yet for theeT 

''l^he fool who labors to out jest 
His heart'Strook injuries^ 

WHAT an exquisite picture the poet pre- 
sents of the Fool in "Lear" ! He has no 
name. • He does not need one. It would lessen 
his significance. His age, his personality, are left 
to our imagination. Whether the tender pathos, 
the unswerving loyalty, the shrewd observance, 
the pointed parables, and the snatches of quaint 
old songs emanate from the soul of a youth or a 
man of maturity, we are not informed; but cer- 
tain 'tis, the tears that force themselves through 
the fragments of melody and almost choke their 

187 



i88 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

utter,ance come from the loving heart of one whose 
affection time has tried and found sterling. 

His master calls him "Boy," but that is from 
custom rather than fact; in the same sense that a 
negro servant in the South is called a "boy" till 
he dies of old age. 

He has been a long time in the service of the 
king who evidently loves him, misses him from 
his train, and is impatient of his absence ; for after 
repeatedly calling for him without reply, he 
abruptly demands: "But where's my fool? I 
have not seen him for these two days." That the 
Fool has penetrated the hypocritical protestations 
of the king's eldest daughters, Goneril and Regan, 
and learned to love the gentle but undemonstra- 
tive Cordelia is evidenced by the knight's reply: 
"Since my young lady's going into France, sir, 
the fool hath much pined away." 
" I picture the Fool as a young-old man, not as 
old as the king, of course; spare of body and of 
homely features, weak in frame but shrewd of 
mind ; a gentle heart, full of gratitude for years of 
kindness and consideration at the hands of his semi- 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 189 

barbaric master; seeing with silent concern the 
gradual decay of a powerful personality; appalled 
by the mad king's disposition of his kingdom; 
impotent to save, but steadfast to soothe the 
subsequent sorrow and remorse of his deluded 
master. 

Some of the recent commentators have found 
so much love and tenderness in the Fool for the 
king as to be almost filial, and have advanced the 
theory that Cordelia and the fool are one and the 
same person. This view I do not think is justi- 
fied, either by the language or conditions. The 
only passage in the play that affords any author- 
ity for the theory is found in the last scene: 
Lear enters, carrying the body of Cordelia in 
his arms. He lays it upon the ground, and as 
he bends over the lifeless form of his daughter, 
he utters in his grief a number of broken phrases, 
among them the words: "And my poor fool is 
hanged." This may refer to Cordelia, for 
Shakespeare frequently uses the words, "poor 
fool," as a term of endearment, but I am of the 
opinion they have a literal meaning. The 



190 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

enemies of the king, knowing the loyalty and af- 
fectionate devotion of the Fool for his master, 
have hanged him; adding another sorrow to the 
over-burdened heart of the grief-stricken king. 

In representing the play, I have always had the 
Fool present in the opening scene, a silent spec- 
tator of the disposition of the realm by the aged 
king, which seems to me consistent with the sub- 
sequent dialogue. 

I directed him to run upon the scene following 
the entrance of the king and his court, but before 
the beginning of the dialogue, and with a merry 
salutation to his master to throw himself down 
at the foot of the throne. I instructed him to 
watch every motion, to listen intently to every 
word, and by facial expression silently but elo- 
quently to reflect his emotions as the action of the 
scene proceeded. First, surprise at the king's di- 
vision of the realm, awe at the terrible passion of 
his aged master, consternation at the dismissal of 
Kent, and horror at the denunciation and banish- 
ment of Cordelia. This business, together with 
his hardly suppressed gestures of protest and ap- 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 191 

peal, and his final despair at his utter helpless- 
ness to stem the torrent of the king's anger, I 
found a most effective adjunct to the scene. I 
directed the Fool to linger on the scene after the 
exit of the king and the court, and with dog-like 
affection stealthily to creep over to the grief- 
stricken, banished princess, furtively kiss the hem 
of her robe, and then make his own exit from the 
scene in sadness and silence. 

The Fool disappears after Cordelia's departure 
from the court with her husband, the King of 
France, and hiding his grief is not seen again till 
the growing impatience and repeated calls of his 
master make his presence imperative. 

In the fourth scene of the first act, Lear has 
taken the disguised Earl of Kent into his service 
as a reward for justly punishing an insolent fol- 
lower of his daughter, when the Fool runs on, and 
offering Kent his fools-cap, exclaims: "Let me 
hire him, too: here's my coxcomb." 

Kent, with good humored amusement, asks: 
"Why, fool?" 

To which the Fool answers: "Why, for tak- 



192 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

ing one's part that's out of favor. Nay, and thou 
canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold 
shortly : there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fel- 
low has banish' d two of his daughters, and did the 
third a blessing against his will; if thou follow 
him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb." 

The scene that follows is full of the deepest 
significance. The contrast between the gradually 
increasing anger of the king, that culminates in 
the terrible curse hurled on his daughter Goneril, 
and the pungent wit of the Fool, who, while he is 
unsparing with the lash of keenest satire, softens 
each blow with improvised lines of humor, and 
snatches of song (themselves the very quintes- 
sence of satire) is most striking. Epigrams, each 
more pointed than its predecessor, follow in rapid 
sequence, while the application of the couplets and 
doggerel to the situation is perfect; and yet, 
through it all there is a veiled tenderness, an in- 
definable sympathy that as we laugh at the wit, 
brings a tear of pity to the eye. 

The scene is so full of wit, wisdom and sound 
philosophy, each phrase following the other with 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 193 

such cumulative precision, that I quote it almost 
in its entirety. 

Fool. How now, nuncle? Would I had two cox- 
combs, and two daughters ! 
Lear. Why, my boy? 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
coxcombs myself; there's mine; beg another of thy 
daughters. 

Lear. Take heed, sirrah: the whip. 
Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel ; he must be 
whipp'd out, when the lady brach may stand by the 
fire. . . . Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. Mark it 
nuncle : — 

Have more than thou showest. 
Speak less than thou knowest. 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest, 
Learn more than thou trowest. 
Set less than thou throwest; 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 

Kent. This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
yer; you gave me nothing for't. Can you make no 
use of nothing, nuncle ? 

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of 
nothing. 

Fool. Pr'thee tell him, so much the rent of his land 
comes to; he will not believe a fool. 



194 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

Lear. A bitter fool ! 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
tween a bitter fool and a sweet one? 
Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 

Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee to give away 
thy land 
Come place him here by me, do thou for 

him stand; 
The sweet and bitter fool will presently ap- 
pear; 
The one in motley here — the other found out 
there. (pointing to the King.) 

Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; 
that thou wast born with. . . . Nuncle, give me an 
tgg, and I'll give thee two crowns. 

Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
Fool. Why, after I have cut the Q,gg i' the middle, 
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the t.gg. 
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle and gavest 
away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back 
o'er the dirt: thou had'st little wit in thy bald crown, 
when thou gavest thy golden one away. 

(singing) Fools had ne'er less grace in a year: 
For wise men are grown foppish; 
And know not how their wits to wear, 
Their manners are so apish. 
Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
sirrah ? 
Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 195 

thy daughters thy mothers ; for then thou gavest them 
the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches, 

(singing) Then they for sudden joy did weep, 
And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep 
And go the fools among. 

Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie. 

Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 

Fool. 1 marvel what kin thou and thy daughters 
are ; they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, thou'lt 
have me whipp'd for lying; and sometimes I am 
whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be any 
kind o' thing than a fool : and yet I would not be thee, 
nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and 
left nothing in the middle. Here comes one o' the 
parings. 

At this point Goneril, the king's eldest daugh- 
ter, comes upon the scene; she is apparently very 
angry, and her feelings are reflected in her coun- 
tenance, for the king challenges her : 

Lear. How now, daughter ? what makes that front- 
let on? Methinks you are too much of late i' the 
frown. 

Before Goneril can reply, and much to the 
manifest indignation of that lady, subsequently 



196 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

expressed, the "all-licensed" Fool accurately sums 
up the situation. 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst 
no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O 
without a figure: I am better than thou art now: I 
am a fool, thou art nothing. — 

Mum, mum. 

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb. 

Weary of all, shall want some. 

Goneril's wrath now breaks forth in a most 
bitter and vituperative speech to her father, the 
insolence and audacity of which strikes the old 
king momentarily dumb. The Fool, however, is 
neither surprised nor affrighted, but exclaims: 

Fool. For you know, nuncle. 

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
That it's had its head bit off by its young. 

With consummate art, the poet has gradually 
eliminated the humor and satire as the tragic pas- 
sion of the situation increases ; but he has reserved 
one line to the Fool that to me is awful in its 
significance, and connotes limitless possibilities of 
thought and conjecture. - Lear, appalled at the 
audacity and disrespect of his daughter, doubts 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 197 

the evidence of his eyes and his ears, his person- 
ality, his very existence; and exclaims: "Does 
any here know me*? Who is it that can tell me 
who I am?' 

To which the Fool replies: "Lear's shadow." 

The words seem to carry corroboration with 
them ; for instead of the powerful monarch whose 
will was law, and word a command, we see before 
us a weak, indefinite remainder of something 
which was a personality, and now is nothing; 
nothing but a shadow; realizing but too late the 
fatal error that robbed him of the power he is now 
impotent to regain. Something, however, of his 
old self returns as insults accumulate on his rev- 
erend head; the limit of even paternal endurance 
is reached, and the outraged father hurls on the 
head of his thankless child a curse, the terrific 
force of which is probably unequaled in literature, 
and leaves her. 

Goneril orders the Fool to follow him : "You, 
sir, more knave than fool, after your master." 

The Fool obeys, leaving, however, his compli- 
ments behind him. 



198 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

A fox, when one has caught her, 
And such a daughter, 
Should sure to the slaughter, 
If my cap would buy a halter; 
So the fool follows after. 

Loyally the faithful Fool follows his master; 
with tender solicitude he strives, by quip and 
quaint reply, to divert the remnant of the poor 
king's mind from the deep grief that envelops it, 
and by folly "labors to outjest his heart-strook 
injuries." The effort, however, is but partially 
successful; the deep sorrow beneath absorbs the 
rippling laughter on the surface and dissolves it 
into tears. 

How pathetic are the steadfast efforts of the 
Fool to change the current of the old king's 
thoughts, and dull the constantly recurring mem- 
ories of his wrongs. As one witty suggestion 
fails to hold his attention, the Fool flits to an- 
other; a jest, a riddle, a pun, anything that will 
stifle the sob, hold back the tear, or deaden the 
memory. Not folly for folly's sake, but to allay 
the pain of a breaking heart. This is comedy 
brought into such close relation with the great 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 199 

sorrows of life that it is transformed to the deep- 
est tragedy. Combination and contrast ! A king 
and a fool I Reverence and folly! Majesty and 
motley! Weakness protecting strength! A 
clown defending a scepter, and a bauble shielding 
a crown; and yet all of these contrasts are har- 
monized by the holiest of human emotions, fidel- 
ity and love. 

How significant are the lines, how clear their 
purpose ! 

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee 
kindly ; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an 
apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 

Lear. What canst tell, boy? 

Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does to 
a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the 
middle on's face? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's 
nose; that what a man cannot smell out he may spy 
into. 

Here, the king's mind reverts to the banish- 
ment of his daughter Cordelia : 

Lear. I did her wrong: — 



200 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

But the Fool changes the current of his 
thoughts by another qu^stion_: 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither : but I can tell why a snail has 
a house. 

Lear. Why? 

Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away 
to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 

Again the memory of his grief returns, and 
again the Fool provides a diversion: 

Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father! 
— Be my horses ready? 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason 
why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty 
reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 

Fool. Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good 
fool. 

However Lear might have appreciated this 
doubtful compliment, in his normal mental con- 
dition, it is lost on him now, and his thoughts are 
once more on his wrongs: 

Lear. To tak't again perforce! — Monster ingrati- 
tude! 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 201 

Once more the Fool recalls him from himself: 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee 
beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How's that? 

Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou 
hadst been wise. 

The horses are now brought out, and the king, 
with the Fool, and his reduced train of fifty fol- 
lowers start on their journey. 

*With untiring devotion the Fool follows the 
wandering way of the king, hovering near his side 
and lightening the journey with jest and song, di- 
verting his old master's mind from its heavy sor- 
row by numberless devices, till they reach the 
castle of Gloster, where Regan, the king's 
second daughter, and her husband, the Duke of 
Cornwall, are visitors. 

Though the king's visit is not unexpected, the 
gates are closed, no preparation is made for his 
reception, and his arrival is unheralded. His 
messenger, the disguised Kent, whom he had sent 
before to announce his coming, is set in the stocks 
before the entrance to the castle; a degradation 



202 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

and punishment reserved only for the basest of 
men. The Fool is the first to observe this, and 
realizing at once the outrage on the dignity of the 
king by the stocking of iiis messenger, endeavors 
to dwarf the aifront by turning it to folly: 

Fool. Ha, ha ; he wears cruel garters ! Horses are 
tied by the head; dogs and bears by the neck; mon- 
keys by the loins ; and men by the legs ; when a man is 
over lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks. 

But the insult is too apparent, the outrage too 
flagrant, to be overlooked; the king demands an 
explanation from his servant, which being given, 
indicates further indignities, and provokes from 
the Fool the following sage reflections : 

Fool Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly 
that way. 

Fathers that wear rags do make their chil- 
dren blind; 

But fathers that bear bags shall see their 
children kind. 

Lear, commanding his train to remain without 
enters the castle to seek his daughter. Kent, still 
in the stocks, noting the reduced number of the 
king's attendants, asks: 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 203 

Kent How chance the king comes with so small a 
number ? 

To which the Fool replies: 

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that 
question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
Kent. Why, fool? 

•*"The answer to Kent's question contains so much 
of bitter truth, worldly wisdom and sound reason- 
ing, that the speaker might well be a grave and 
reverend man of age, deducing his philosophy 
from a life-long experience, rather than a motley 
fool venting his folly for the diversion of the 
moment. 

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there's no laboring i' the winter. All that follow 
their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men. Let 
go thine hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, 
lest it break thy neck with following; but the great 
one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. 
When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me 
mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, 
since a fool gives it. 

That sir which serves and seeks for gain, 
And follows but for form, 
Will pack when it begins to rain, 



204 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

And leave thee in the storm. 

But I will tarry; the fool will stay, 

And let the wise man fly: 

The knave turns fool that runs away; 

The fool no knave, perdy. 

Take the above, phrase by phrase, note its ap- 
plication and significance; the bitter reflections of 
the Fool on the disloyalty of the king's former 
friends; the doubts of his present followers; the 
truisms of wisdom and folly; the more than sug- 
gestion of knavery; and the declaration of his 
own devotion, that in another might appear ego- 
tistically effusive, but in the fool is natural and 
sincere. 

But I will tarry; the fool will stay. 
And let the wise man fly. 

The reply to Kent's query is certainly true. 
The lesson was well learned, but "Not i' the 
stocks, fool." 

The Fool is silent during the scene that follows, 
and allows the indignation of the king to have 
full sway without interruption, till passion gives 
way to grief; this he tries to stay with the jest of 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 205 

the cockney and the eels and the butter' d hay, but 
the great flood of an outraged father's wrath is 
beyond his power to stem. Awestricken and 
dumb he stands, impotently watching the sturdy 
defense of his aged master against the combined 
attack of his unnatural daughters. Powerless to 
shield him from a single blow, he sees his 
strength waning, and his reason totter, till the 
limit of human endurance is reached, and the old 
man, exhausted in mind and body, falls into the 
arms of his humble friend with the agonizing cry, 
*^0, fool, I shall go mad!" 
XThe gates, like the hearts of his "pernicious 
daughters," are closed against him; night falls, 
and the storm descends. "The fretful elements 
contend," "the to-and-fro conflicting wind and 
rain," struggle for supremacy, and vent their fury 
on the earth. 

The Fool is not consistent ; he has not taken his 
own advice to "Let go thine hold when a great 
wheel runs down a hill," but clings to the descend- 
ing and revolving disk as it rolls to destruction. 

The rain drenches him to the skin, the wind 



2o6 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

chills his blood to ice, and the flashing fire and 
rolling thunder fill his heart with fear; but the 
combined fury of the elements cannot drive him 
from his master's side, or shake the loyalty of his 
love. Patiently he follows the aimless footsteps 
of the distracted king, clinging to his dripping 
garments, and, first by suggestion and then ap- 
peal, endeavors to guide the grief-stricken old man 
to shelter. 

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is 
better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, 
in ; ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's a night pities 
neither wise men nor fools. * 

Yet both are abroad, exposed to its impetuous 
blasts. 

How well our poet knew that contrast was, 
and is, the very essence of the drama; and how 
strikingly the contrasts of life are here presented ! 
Great nature in the majesty of its wrath, weak 
humanity at its mercy ! The deep philosophy of 
a child-changed father, and the trifling jests of a 
motley clown ! A witty fool, and a witless king ! 
and yet these contrasts are woven into the fabric 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 207 

of the play with such consummate skill that a 
natural and perfect harmony is preserved. 

Truly there is wisdom beneath the coxcomb in 
the following: 

He that has a house to put's head in has a good head- 
piece. 

That man that makes his toe 
What he his heart should make 
Shall of a corn cry woe, 
And turn his sleep to wake. 

For there was never yet fair woman but she made 
mouths in a glass. 

Truisms but trifles ! yet they form the only rem- 
edy the poor Fool can offer to cure the deadly 
grief of the old king; the only stay his puny 
strength can put forth to prevent that "great 
wheel" from running down the hill. 

We recognize the truth of the boy's reply to the 
demand of Kent upon the heath, "Who's there*?" 
"Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece ; that's a wise 
man and a fool." But we reverse the intent of 
the assertion. 

Kent succeeds in inducing the old king to seek 



2o8 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

some shelter, and the fool and the knave lead him 
unresistingly to the hovel. 

The art of our necessities is strange, 
That can make vile things precious. 

Foul straw that has bedded cattle is the pallet 
of a king, and his chamber a hovel that a swine- 
herd would despise; yet the royalty of his nature 
reigns within his heart, and regal grace still shines 
about him. In his great extremity the fidelity of 
his friends is not forgotten; nothing <:ould be 
more tender than his gracious acknowledgment of 
his love and appreciation, ere he seeks the humble 
shelter they have found for him : 

Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That's sorry yet for thee. 

Oh! faithful Fool! unselfish friend! thou 
need'st not the sunlight of fortune to develop thy 
love; storms may fright thee; cold may chill thy 
blood; and fear invade thy heart, but thou art 
steadfast. 

The elements themselves approve thy fidelity, 
and abate their fury, for the storm grows less 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 209 

severe; and above the soughing of the wind the 
sweet melody of thy gentle song, infected with thy 
tears fills the air with the soft tranquillity of a 
mother's lullaby, and soothes the vexed spirit of 
thy much loved master. 

He that has and a little tiny wit, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
Must make content with his fortunes fit. 
Though the rain it raineth every day. 

-•^ow true to nature is the reaction. The king 
is sheltered, at least for a time ; for himself or his 
own ease the Fool has no thought, so the keen 
edge of his wit is directed to the world and its 
injustices. How bitterly cynical his arraignment 
of fortune, an indictment that in its quality is so 
comprehensive and prophetic, it would seem as if 
the poet's vision had pierced the veil of time, and 
named the wrongs and corruptions of the present 
day. 

The Fool is alone and his thoughts are ex- 
pressed in the nature of a soliloquy: 

I'll speak a prophecy ere I go: 

When priests are more in word than matter; 



210 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

When brewers mar their malt with water; 
When nobles are their tailors' tutors; 
No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; 
When every case in law is right; 
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; 
When slanders do not live in tongues ; 
Nor cutpurses come not to throngs ; 
When usurers tell their gold i' the field; 
And bawds and wantons churches build: 
Then shall the realm of Albion 
Come to great confusion: 
Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 
That going shall be us'd with feet. 

It will be observed that the above is the first 
soliloquy of the Fool, in other words, the first 
time that, being alone, he has spoken his thoughts 
that we might know them. 

\As a rule, I have found in Shakespeare the first 
soliloquy to be the keynote to the character; but 
I think the present instance is an exception. The 
shrewd satire of the parabolical epigrams that the 
Fool has uttered with so much deliberation would 
indicate a worldly wisdom and embittered sar- 
casm, rather than the loyalty and love which is 
his distinguishing characteristic, and which seems 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 211 

to expand and grow as the poor old king's strength 
fails, and wits give way. 

-Once more the king is out in the storm, and now 
another character is added to the scene — "Poor 
Tom," the Bedlam beggar, whose exaggerated 
ravings make an appropriate addition to the en- 
vironment, and complete the picture of human 
misery. 

Small wonder that, appalled by the combina- 
tion by which he is surrounded, the Fool exclaims : 
"This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
madmen." 

What a trio of contrast is presented at the rude 
farmhouse in which they are now sheltered: 
The poor old king, his clothing torn by the briers, 
his hair and beard ravished by the wind, rain- 
soaked to the skin, and growing more witless every 
minute; the naked Bedlam beggar (Edgar dis- 
guised), "Poor Tom," assuming madness for 
safety; and the motley fool, serving and suffering 
with dog-like fidelity, content to share his master's 
fortune, be it good or ill. Among them it is 



212 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

indeed difficult to determine who is sane, and who 
is not, and the declaration of the Fool seems to 
be apt and appropriate: ''He's mad that trusts 
in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's 
love, or a wanton's oath." 

The composition of the court of justice, in the 
old farmhouse, of a serving man, a beggar, and 
a Fool on the bench, commissioned by a mad king 
to try imaginary offenders, forms a most "honor- 
able assembly," and is indeed a grim satire on the 
administration of justice. 

It may be observed, that while Shakespeare has 
treated the Chief Justice in Henry IV, and the 
higher judges, if so I may term them in his sev- 
eral plays, with respect and dignity, he is very 
severe on the ignorance and arrogance of the petty 
justices and local magistrates. How far this 
may be due to his own experience with several 
Warwickshire justices, with whom it is said he 
became somewhat unpleasantly familiar in his 
youth, and against whom he appears to have re- 
tained some resentment all his life, I am not pre- 
pared to say. 



THE FOOL IN KING LEAR 213 

<rhe long, long day of sorrow, pain and suffer- 
ing comes to an end at last. "Oppressed nature" 
has reached the limit of its endurance, her "foster- 
nurse," repose, has "closed the eye of anguish," 
and compassionate sleep, the "balm of hurt 
minds," brings oblivion, for a time at least. 

The king falls asleep, his clouded mind mur- 
muring, "We'll go to supper i' the morning," and 
the faithful Fool, his limbs benumbed with cold, 
his eyes wearied with watching and his heart 
heavy with grief, responds, "And I'll go to bed 
at noon." 

These are the last lines spoken by the Fool ; the 
litter to carry the king to a place of safety is pre- 
pared; the Fool, at Kent's command, assists the 
others to bear away his sleeping master, and is 
seen no more. No further reference is made to 
him, and we are left in ignorance of his fate if 
we except a brief passage spoken by the king in 
the last scene of the tragedy: "And my poor fool 
is hanged." 

Commentators as I have said, differ as to the 
application of these words. Some claim that 



214 THE FOOLS OF SHAKESPEARE 

they refer to his dead daughter Cordelia, but I 
prefer to regard them as informing us of the fate 
of the poor Fool, whose life has been sacrificed 
to his fidelity. 

^ It is but a natural conclusion, and in perfect 
harmony with the tragic incidents of the play. 
Such love, such unselfish devotion could not sur- 
vive its object. It was inevitable. Life with 
such tragic memories would be impossible to en- 
dure. No. One fate encompassed them both. 
The gentle spirit of the faithful friend has gon; 
before, and patiently waits for the poor tortured 
soul of his loved master to share the peace that he 
has found. f 

He that hath a little tiny wit, — 
With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
Though the rain it raineth every day, 
Oh the wind, the wind and the rain. 



THE END 



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